I’ve never liked change.
One day my mom came home with a new hairstyle when I was 7, and I was terribly upset. I could not believe she would change her hair without asking me first.
When I had to start first grade, I cried because I was going to have to have a new teacher, and really, I don’t remember being that fond of my Kindergarten teacher.
Today, I pack up my things and will be moving to Kansas City to start a new job, go back to school and begin the next phase of my life. I’ve decided I want to teach and coach basketball, and it’s a decision that feels right.
But at the same time, I don’t like change and I hate goodbyes.
When I arrived in Emporia, honestly, I thought it would be a short pitstop. I thought it was the perfect steppingstone to eventually landing a beat writer job in a much bigger market.
My philosophy had always been that I would move to wherever I had to move to further my sportswriting career.
But Emporia changed me. Maybe it was the day I moved into my house on Merchant Street, when my parents pulled away and a little old lady came chasing after me on the sidewalk. It was my neighbor, Imo McCosh, welcoming me to the neighborhood.
I don’t see Imo much, but often there are cars in her driveway. Family, I assume, keeping her company. Two of the best days in my time here have come a few days after I published stories that I worked really hard on. The first one was about a month into the job, and when I got home one night, Imo had left the paper in my door with a nice note on the front.
Another time, after writing a feature on Ida Edwards, Imo cut out the story and mailed it to me at the Gazette, with a typewriter-written message inside that said, “C.J., you have the silver tongue of the Irish.”
Imo’s messages made me realize that the size of the paper I worked for didn’t matter as much as how the stories I wrote impacted the readers. When I covered the Lady Hornets’ National championship this year and the baseball team’s World Series run last year, my stories might not have reached millions of readers, but those stories will be held onto by many Emporians and in the scrapbooks of the players for years to come, and that means more to me than the circulation of the newspaper I work for.
So why not stay?
As I see the various cars in Imo’s driveway, it makes me think of my mom and my family, and how I want to be nearby. My mom is my best friend, and I like the idea of a hug being 15 minutes away.
Sportswriting would eventually take me farther away.
I’ve also thought a lot in the last year about the other people who have been big influences in my life. After my mom, it’s some of the teachers and coaches who made me feel like I was different — in a good way — and taught me to be confident.
One of the best days of my life was the day I coached a group of sixth graders to the league championship in Lawrence. We played a team we had never won against that day, and they had the best player in the league. He was doing anything he wanted in the first half, and I sensed fear from my kids. They were losing, not because the other team was better, but because they were scared to really challenge the best player.
At halftime, I talked about how we had gotten to that game, by playing with effort and playing great team defense. I told them they could stop the best player; they just needed to believe it. Playing basketball in fear, or living in fear, is no way to live.
In the second half, we completely shut the best player down and rallied to win the game. It was one of the most satisfying moments of my life, watching my players realize they had accomplished something by believing in themselves and each other. I think that day I realized I wanted to be a coach and wanted to teach.
It just took me a couple pitstops to get there.
And now, I say goodbye to Emporia and goodbye to sportswriting. I don’t like it, but my mom’s hairdo turned out to be much better than the ’80s perm she rocked before. And my first grade teacher taught me how to read, and she was one of my favorite teachers I ever had.
And not chasing my dreams out of fear is no way to live.
neighbor (anonymous) says...
Good luck CJ
April 30, 2010 at 1:31 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )