Meeting my expectations

My mom has always said that her mother and I share many characteristics. Which makes sense, because she was a huge part of my life in my childhood – I was constantly spending the night at her house and going shopping with her and my Mom.
Since I was a teenager, Grandma Marcella and I had rivaling shoe collections and exploding closets, and both of us always had a tendency to button our shirts so they ended up uneven at the bottom, with no button hole for the last button.
But that’s not all we had in common. My grandma was a free spirit. She didn’t marry until she was 28, something almost unheard of in the 1940s. Her family often jokes she thought she would be an old maid. Her husband was two years younger – another unique aspect, but something she didn’t let get in the way of her happiness.
I’m also quite the individual. I won’t let anyone tell me what to do, although I’ll listen to their suggestions. Last fall, I broke my arm riding a horse, something my parents didn’t like me doing. But I have no regrets, because I did exactly what I wanted to do.
My grandma and I are both particular, but in different ways. For as long as I can remember, she would call my Mom every Saturday afternoon to talk about what she would wear to Church that evening. Grandma Marcella was proud of her appearance and always wanted to look her best. That’s why she got her hair done every Thursday afternoon at the beauty parlor on the lone main street in her rural town. And I was never allowed to touch it, other than gently patting it.
I think this attention to details is what attracts me to journalism – I’m a stickler for details. My sister laughs at me when I point out a grammatical error in newsletters, bulletins and other publications. At Christmas Mass last year, she rolled her eyes when I pointed out a misspelled word in the Church bulletin. I call it saving the world, one grammatical mistake at a time.
But grammar and editing aren’t the only aspects of journalism that require special attention. A designer needs to pay attention to every detail, giving stories the appropriate placement and headline treatment, plus other layers of subelements. He or she also needs to pay attention to style, ensuring the article’s text begins six points below the descender, not five or seven. And a reporter needs to pay all sorts of attention to details – who is involved, showing all viewpoints, and getting the accurate information.
In my time at the Columbia Missourian, in addition to my internships, I have found the usefulness of the attention to details. At the newspaper back home where I work during breaks, the managing editor jokes “give it to Michelle. She’ll find something wrong with it.” This particularity may offend some people. But I’m just doing what I think any good journalist should do – paying attention to the details.
I actually didn’t know that I wanted to be a journalist until I thrust myself into it. Not being able to afford out-of-state tuition, Mizzou was actually the only school I applied to senior year. It’s one of, if not the most, prestigious universities in the state. Plus my older brother came here, and graduated from Mizzou the same week I graduated from high school.
With the passion I’ve developed for journalism, it’s hard to imagine I was one of those students who just checked the journalism box because I had no idea what I wanted to do. Like a lot of the others, I had been told a time or two that I was a good writer, and figured since Mizzou was renowned for its School of Journalism, it was a good choice.
I came to college with the intention of focusing on broadcast journalism. But a couple things stood in my way – for one, my Southern accent. Other students on the floor of my dorm would playfully tease me because of my accent, and I didn’t want strangers to be making fun of it, although I (and some others) find my drawl cute and interesting. Another obstacle was experience – when I went to search for a job the summer after freshman year, I was taken on at the newspaper; no positions were available at the news station.
But I think that is God’s way of helping indecisive people like me make decisions – by closing one door and opening another. During that summer at the Sikeston Standard Democrat, I grew and learned more than I could have in any course. I got to do hands-on work and was assigned a story to finish my first day. But I was hooked. For the first time in my life, I had a job I enjoyed. I, the one who loves to sleep in, loved getting up and heading into work early in the morning.
I’ve had some failures over the years. Freshman year of college, I got my first C on a test – and though I would die. I rear-ended someone six months after I got my drivers license because I wasn’t paying attention. I’ve forgotten to send my dad a birthday card. I’ve made a mistake in my writing and had to run a correction. But I’ve learned from all of my mistakes and they have helped me grow. I don’t regret any of them.
Although I’m not aware of any instances, I’m sure my grandma failed at something – that’s part of human nature. But there’s one thing I’m absolutely certain she never failed at – being a wife, mother, grandmother and sister. Family was always important to her – she saved enough money to help each of her children buy their first home.
That’s something I know I will never fail at either – I can’t. What is most important to me is being a good wife and mother. My mom has been a housewife since the week before my brother was born and I know how imperative it is for children to have a parent around. And I want a husband I can share all the wonders in life with.
But just because I want someone to be with my children doesn’t mean I have to alter my working hours. I would actually like to be the breadwinner of the home. After taking a newspaper management course last semester, I’ve decided to obtain my MBA, taking classes part-time while working full time at my hometown newspaper in Sikeston, Mo. Ultimately, I would like to be a managing editor or own my own newspaper one day, and make enough money so my husband could stay home or only work part time.
I’m getting my MBA because it’s an interest of mine, but also to satisfy my Mom. She, nor my dad, a farmer, never attended college. They’ve seen the importance of an education and made sacrifices to ensure my two siblings and I would be able to obtain a college education without having any debt. My brother, who is four years older than I, got his masters and is working for John Deere now. I’ve always viewed my parents to thinking he is perfect, so I know I must receive the same level of education he has. My mom also makes me feel guilty for going back to work at a community newspaper – she thinks I could do better, and work at a more renowned company, as my brother is doing. But that’s what I want in life. I want to make a real difference in the life of people, and live in a town where you go to the grocery store to pick up a gallon of milk and loaf of bread and run into five people you know while there, spending 30 minutes at a five-minute task.
A career woman is one thing I am that Grandma Marcella wasn’t. Sure, she worked in a factory before she had children. But then, as society dictated, she quit work to raise a family and help manage the family farm. I think that if she were my age today, she would be a career woman, too. I wonder what her college major would have been.
My grandma and I do have some differences. But we are alike in many ways, most importantly that we are thorough and don’t accept failure. That’s why, although I miss her horribly, I am peaceful with her death last August. I know that it was her time and she had accomplished everything she wanted to in her lifetime.
I only hope I can be as lucky and accomplished.
- Michelle