By Jerry Burke
When I first came to the Herald in May of 2001, I was miserable. A stooge had just been "elected" president, I was in severe debt and my mother was still giving me dating advice.
Today, as I leave the Herald, I am still miserable. The same stooge was "re-elected" president, and I'm still in severe debt. (But hey, at least my mother stopped giving me dating advice. As I recall, she mumbled something about my being a "lost cause.")
I have grown. I can feel it.
A lot has changed in the last four years, but, to be fair, a lot remains the same. (Decisiveness has never been one of my strong points.) A scant few months after I began covering school boards, I started covering funerals. A lot of funerals.
And that's when I learned perhaps the most important thing about what a community is. Following Sept. 11, we were all part of something tragic, but at the same time beautiful. I know it's strange to think about almost 3,000 people dying in coordinated terrorist attacks as a thing of beauty (it wasn't), but the outpouring of concern, the ability of people to forget their own needs in deference to the needs of others, was incredible to witness and record. I considered it an honor.
Since then, some people have said that we, as a country, have lost our way. Maybe we have, but the world didn't stop spinning. There were still schools to run, fires to put out and politicians to lie to you. We kept going. You should be proud.
But it's not over. Not by a long shot. Unless your last name is Hilton, Bush or Walton or you've figured out that the best way to get rich quick is to write a book about getting rich quick, there are still problems out there. Once they're solved, more problems will come. Then you die.
Just as a reminder, I'm available for children's birthday parties.
My dad, ever the optimist, use to say, "Life is misery interrupted by moments of joy that you'll remember far longer than the misery." No joy? Find it. It's out there. Don't accept a darn thing unless you want to. No one has all the answers, no matter how many times Dr. Phil or Tom Cruise say otherwise.
I've been writing professionally since I was in college. Even when there were gaps in my employment, I would write columns for myself. Sad, yes, but at least I was entertained by how funny and topical I could be before selling off yet another pint of blood for beer money. Point is, I'll be around somewhere, picking on the mendacity of the powers that be like a pygmy shooting blow darts at an elephant.
I guess if there is any one thing that I'm angry about, it's that we as a race have so much potential, but yet we treat shark attacks as if they were the plague. We can do better than this, and it's my sincere belief that we will. Someday. Maybe next Tuesday. I don't quite know.
I'd like to thank everybody who has read my stuff over the last few years and called or wrote to say they liked it. I'd also like to thank everybody who's read my stuff and told me to stick objects of varying lengths and widths into uncomfortable places. Either way, I was always honored.
And until we meet again, remember: Always cut the red wire first. Trust me on this one.
