THOSE ROUGH WATERS

Dear Spike:

I always said I'd go down with the ship. But the ship is sailing on. And, it would appear, it is doing so without me.

After a decade of chasing scoops and beating deadlines, I'm leaving my job as a newspaper reporter.

The reasons are myriad, but not all that complicated. I love what I do and would be very pleased to know that I could do it for the rest of my life. But the future of the newspaper industry is murky, at best. More than 30,000 newspaper employees in this country have lost their jobs in the past three years. Hundreds of papers have stopped the presses.

I was perfectly aware that this could happen when I got into this business. I'll never forget the day that my father came home, arms wrapped around a cardboard box, after the newspaper at which he worked closed its doors in 1993. I'll never forget the look on his face.

So yes, I knew the waters would be rough.

But damn the torpedoes, I said. Full steam ahead, I said.

That was before you came. I've always been willing to go down with the ship, but I'm not willing to bring you down, too.

And thankfully, I knew something:

The year after his paper closed, your grandfather helped bring the World Cup of soccer to the United States. Two years later, he helped found Major League Soccer (we benefited from his hard work just the other night when we watched Real Salt Lake defeat the Columbus Crew 4-1.) When he'd seen enough of the ugly side of the beautiful game, your papa bounced back into the newspaper industry for a few years before finally landing in the New Haven Unified School District, where he helps keep students, parents, teachers and administrators connected to their schools and to one another.

At every step along the way, he found purpose and satisfaction and joy.

And so I knew that I could too — no matter the ship on which I sailed.

Since shortly after you were born, I've been working toward making a transition from journalism to teaching. And today all that work came to fruition. I have accepted an offer to become an assistant professor at Utah State University.

The job comes with a lot of great benefits — not the least of which is the time and freedom to continue to commit acts of journalism. Yes, I'll be keeping my toe in those rough waters.

But the new job also comes with some sacrifices.

For the past three years, I have been blessed with the ability to work at home, with you by my side. It wasn't always easy to juggle my duties as a father with my duties as a journalist, but you helped me make it work. I would not trade the time we spent together for anything in the world.

Next year, you'll go off to school — and I'll be commuting to a job that is 90 miles away from our home. The department chair has pledged to help me arrange my schedule in such a way that is conducive to being both a good teacher and a good father and husband. I'm so grateful for his support, but it's still safe to say that there will be days that you and I won't see much of each other, if we see each other at all. That's going to be hard for me.

The trade-offs are weekends without the prospect of breaking news. School holidays. Summertime.

And, yes, a little bit of security.

That's not to say that these waters couldn't get rough, too. They very well might. But, at least for now, we sail on smoother seas.

Love,
dad

SORT OF MADNESS

Dear Spike:

It’s cliché — my God, it’s cliché — but you’ve really changed my life.

There was a time when I defined myself by my work. But today your mother and I spent a considerable amount of time contemplating whether we could afford for me not to work.

Ultimately we decided we can’t quite cut it. Your mom’s salary might cover our mortgage, insurance, student loans and car payment, but we do like to eat and heat our home in the winter. So at least for the time being, we’ll remain a two-income family.

But in a big way, that’s beside the point. We had a discussion about me quitting my job. And I wasn’t completely sickened by the thought. In fact, I was sort of excited by it.

Maybe that’s the exhaustion talking. I’ve always felt like I was rather adept at multitasking, but you’ve challenged that skill to new heights. Today I gave a lecture while holding you on my hip (in addition to being cute, you made a nice prop when the discussion turned to the subject of teen pregnancy.) I’ve gotten rather good at balancing you between my arms while I type (sometimes with just one hand when I’m feeding you.) And I’ve become pretty good at diapering you with one hand, too (thank God for Bummis.)

But it’s never easy to serve two masters. And at the end of the day I don’t feel like showering or cleaning the kitchen or even reading a book. All I want to do is sleep.

I know your mother is tired, too. She spends all day with her kindergartners (someday ask me to show you the scene in the movie “Gremlins” where the monsters take over the movie theater — that’s what it is like.) Then she comes home and (if she’s lucky) she gets three minutes to decompress before I throw you into her arms.

And maybe this sort of madness might not sound like fun to some people. But in our rare, quiet and calm moments I look down at you and wonder aloud how I ever believed I was happy working without you. And on the days when I have to drop you off at the babysitter’s house for a few hours, all I want to do is get back as soon as possible to pick you up. And while the increasingly rare hours when you nap are my best opportunities to get any substantial work done, sometimes when you sleep I miss you and I feel like waking you up so we can play.

Obviously, I can’t take you to Iraq or Afghanistan with me. And next time I jump out of a helicopter or get Tasered by police officers, you won’t be invited along.

But you know what? Those things aren’t quite as compelling to me as they once were. And while I still feel committed to the profession I’ve chosen, it’s become less of who I am and more of what I do.

I do still like what I do. And that’s a good thing, I suppose, because it doesn’t appear than I’m going to be a full-time house husband any time soon.

But you know, I can dream.

Love,
dad

THE BLESSINGS MULTIPLIED

Dear Spike:

Your mom and I have always felt quite blessed. We’re very much in love. We have a wonderful home in a city we adore. We have good careers in fields for which we are passionate.

And now, most of all, we have you.

But this week the blessings multiplied. Your mother received a call to interview at a school just six blocks from our home. The very next day, the principal called to offer her a job teaching kindergarten.

The new job pays significantly better than her current position in the suburbs. It is at a school with many at-risk students, which allows her to help those who need it most. And its proximity to our home means she can walk or ride her bicycle to work, saving about 180 commuting hours a year — roughly the equivalent of an entire extra month of work. And that will allow us both to spend more time with you.

While we don’t always recognize the blessings we’re sent, this one was pretty unmistakable. And it prompted me to begin thinking about some of our more subtle blessings.

Like our garden — which may never produce a single pepper, squash, or tomato, but brings us joy nonetheless.

And the park near our home — where we can go, each spring, to watch the ducklings and goslings as they grow.

And our friends — many of whom seem as excited to bring you into their lives as we are.

And our mountains — which give us a sense of place, direction and humility.

We have been very richly blessed, in ways both subtle and profound. It is important to recognize those blessings.

And then, to make sure we are worthy of them.

Love,
dad

Dear Spike's Friends:
Spike's mom's contractions seem to be getting stronger and more frequent. If you haven't yet picked a date and time in the Spikepool, you may want to consider picking sooner than later. (Just go to "About that Date" — May 20 and post a comment with the date and hour you think Spike will arrive.)
Meanwhile, I'm still holding out for June 8.
Love,
Spike's dad

BIT OF TIME

Dear Spike:

For the first time since we arrived here, three years ago, the city school district is hiring elementary school teachers.

Salt Lake City may be the capital of the child-rearingest state in the union, but in recent years, a lot of Mormon families — the ones that most contributed to the state’s overwhelmingly young demographic — have bled out into the suburbs. They’ve been replaced by single professionals, new immigrants, ski bums and others who aren’t as interested in popping out 10 kids. Fewer kids means fewer teachers, and that’s made getting a job — or even an interview — tough going for your mom.

She doesn’t mind working in the suburbs, but that's not why she became a teacher. So she’s trying to get in as many interviews as possible before you come.

To that end, she could use some help. It would be great if you could wait until she’s had a chance to impress a few principals. That shouldn’t take too long — she’s pretty darn wonderful — but if you could buy her a little bit of time, that would be great.

Love,
dad