Unapologetic

I miss hot summer New York nights. I miss having slim legs and wearing shorts. I miss Carvel ice cream. What I don’t miss are the mosquitos. I remember a night standing outside the Quaker Friends meeting house in Chappaqua. My mother was talking to someone. She kept swatting mosquitos off me and saying, “You have to keep moving around or else they’ll bite you.” Why are certain moments, so seemingly meaningless and innocuous, etched in my memory?

Will this moment right now carry the same weight - sitting at the kitchen counter, listening to the patter of rain on the roof, Lota sighing in the next room? My lips greasy from dinner, the skin below my nose stinging from wiping it with tissues all day, my hair tied back. Probably not. 

It’s been a tumultuous month, in the emotional sense. Shortly after returning from Sweden, I applied for a new job as a marketing specialist for a brewery and one week later was offered the position. It’s likely one of the most fun jobs available in Juneau. I would’ve been paid more, worked less hours, likelier happier and more stress-free. After a weekend of agonizing and not agreeing with any one choice for more than an hour, I turned it down. Immediately, I wanted to call back and change my mind. But I didn’t. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make. 

The same day I was offered the position, same sex marriage was legalized in all fifty states. It was the type of news day that made being in the news business amazing. For a statewide story, I interviewed people for reaction, including a former state lawmaker who was responsible for Alaska’s constitutional amendment clarifying marriage as between a man and a woman. Alaska was the first to have such an amendment - other states followed - and this was the man behind it.  

I called him expecting something inflammatory and I wasn’t disappointed. He hadn't changed. He called the day a travesty. He said including same sex marriage rights as a win for the civil rights movement is demeaning to minority groups. He went on about morals. 

I also talked to a boylesque performer who grew up in Juneau. He had married his boyfriend in Washington and said he couldn't wait to travel to more conservative states and unapologetically hold his husband’s hand that has a ring on it. 

The following week, after I had turned down the job, I wrote one of the best stories I’ll ever write. I interviewed a woman, Sara Boesser, whose mother, Mildred, had just passed away. Sara is a lesbian and her mother fought tirelessly for gay rights. She didn't just support her daughter, she knocked on doors in the pouring rain advocating for LGBTQ rights, she testified in the state capitol, in city halls, school board meetings. She lived to see same sex marriage become legal in all 50 states and died three days later. She was 90 years old. It’s one of those stories that was truly a gift to do. It came to me and I was just lucky to be there. 

And it’s that kind of story that made me realize I had made the right decision. 

On what would’ve been my last day of working at KTOO had I accepted the other position, a small plane crashed into a side of a mountain near Juneau killing the pilot. The four passengers survived.

That whole afternoon and evening, I was making calls and writing constant updates. When I had gotten all I was going to get from the Coast Guard and the Troopers and the police, I went to the hospital to interview family members of one of the survivors. I had already been in contact with the best friend and when I arrived to the emergency room waiting area, I was welcomed. I was introduced to all the family members. The survivor’s sister even pulled me aside so she could tell me how strong her sister is. I wasn’t, though, welcomed by certain hospital staff members. The person in charge at the moment called the police and told them I was “harassing” patients. 

When two policemen arrived, I answered all their questions, gave them my driver’s license, pointed out the family members I had spoken to. I heard them tell the hospital security guard that if I wasn’t breaking any laws, they couldn’t do anything to make me leave. But another hospital security guard got involved and said, law or no law, the supervisor wanted me to leave, period. When I asked him for the supervisor’s name, he said Sherrie. When I asked what her last name was, he said they only go by first names at the hospital. When I asked him his name, he gave it to me. But as he was holding out his name badge for me to see, his hand was shaking. And when he got to the final letters of his last name, his voice broke. I hadn't felt bad about anything I had done at the hospital until that moment. Whatever power struggle was happening between me and this security guard, I had upset him and for that I was deeply sorry. Because, while I had no issue standing my ground as a reporter, I did have issue with making this man uncomfortable. This man who, under different circumstances, is probably easy going and funny and likely would’ve had no problem with me if we’d met at another time, another place. We probably would’ve gotten along. 

I worked until 3 a.m. the next morning and filed my first news spot with NPR.