Friday I picked my daughter up from daycare at 6 p.m. looking a little different than I usually do.
“Why are you mad, Daddy?” Kalista asked me as soon as she saw me.
A little shocking.
June has brought nothing but stress to me at work ever since “they” decided to make our paper look like the National Enquirer. Everyone at the office is at everyone’s throat. Certain editors don’t know how to be fearless generals and instead act just as flabbergasted and baffled as the reporters, taking their frustration out on anyone and everyone.
I’ve worn a reflection of this stress on my face since June 1.
Why do I let these things get to me, I ask on more days than I ever thought I would when I was in college learning to do what I am doing now. It’s a job. It’s not supposed to take over my life. But it is.
It’s dominating me to work these weird, unpredictable hours. It’s crushing me to turn in stories I know could be better but can’t because a change in the printing schedule has left me short on time. I am often ashamed to have my byline on them; I increasingly hope no one reads them.
For the pay they’re giving me, why am I in this line of work? I’m never going to change the world under these circumstances. There goes that smile this job used to bring to my face.
Tonight as I dried my little girl’s hair after her bath, she looked at me and said, “When I get big, I want to be a daddy like you are.”
Touching, to say the least.
I realized that deep down, I must be an all right guy – there must be good in me somewhere. Kids are generally good at seeing the good, and Kalista seems to see it in me.
Maybe I can find a calling in life that puts this to use.
I’m cheating my daughter if I don’t.