An Early Morning Fender Bender and a Good Samaritan

7:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning...I am awake and reaching for my keys to drive one of my sisters to her LSAT, which I happily agreed to do for the sweet soul who is bound to be an all-star future lawyer.

But on the way back, I drove cautiously, because I had this odd sense that my delirious and half-asleep state was bound to get me into trouble if I couldn't manage to hold focus until I had successfully retreated to my bed.

Pulling in the parking lot, I'm safe...nothing can happen now. Here's a parking spot, gotta pull in and...nope, this person parked way too close to the line, better go for the one next to it. Next spot, turning the wheel, about to edge in, and all of a sudden...

thud-thud-thud-thud-thud

I'm into another person's car. GREAT. So my negative intuition was right. But no use crying over spilt milk. I back away to assess the damage, checking the other person's car first, of course...

...Okay...the damage isn't SO bad. Honestly, they probably won't even notice. Perhaps my luck will be the same.

Turning to look at my car...and well, I got the brunt of it. My car is banged up with paint scratches, and a panel slightly disconnected from my headlight.

I opened my phone to call my parents, but just as I was about to do so, my bad luck made a U-turn. A middle-aged man approached me and asked to look at my car. I allowed him to do so, as I noticed that he was just coming from inspecting the engine of another car at my complex.

A minute later, he tells me that he'll be back with some equipment, and in the meantime, he tells me to run up and go get a rough sponge, some dishwasher soap, and a bucket of water.

He's a car repairman, or so he said. I believed him and welcomed his help. Perhaps my desperation for my car to look aesthetically pleasing again was my reasoning. Or perhaps it's because my training to become a reporter has made me way too comfortable talking to and trusting statements from strangers. Truthfully, it was probably a little bit of both.

Regardless of my doubt, I noticed that the man knew immediately what to do, and what needed to be done. That's something that no random stranger can pull out of thin air.

As I watched him carefully scrub the paint stains off of my car, and observed the results, I decided to give the guy even more credibility. He even went and scrubbed off the other person's car. But when I called my parents and told them what had happened, they were a little skeptical. They told me to ask some questions. Reasonable enough, so I got to it.

The man did not want to ask for anything in return. Fixing cars is his passion. He does not work with a company because he loves to do his work where it's convenient for customers. This sounded fishy, but I trusted my intuition again, which was telling me that there was nothing to be concerned about.

As the man took apart my car to fix the panels, he told me that he was diagnosed with cancer. He is fighting it with chemo, but working with cars helps him to get his mind off of it.

At this point, I was seeing how skillful he was in his maintenance work, and decided that it was time to be 100% certain that this man was credible and honest. And so, I went to the woman he was helping before me...

She had nothing but glowing things to say. She had gotten the recommendation from a friend, and said that he was one of the sweetest, most honest men she had ever encountered. She said that the cancer he mentioned used to be terminal, but now he just needs to follow up with the doctor to make sure that he can recover.

Now my mind was made up, and I returned outside to see the progress on my car.

And this is what I saw:



Now I'm not sure if you can tell from this picture that something was ever wrong, because I sure can't. In fact, in snapping this picture, I zoomed in and out to see if there was a clear mark that would show up. But trust me when I say that if I had thought to take a "before" picture, you would be just as amazed as I was when I saw what this kind man had done.

I took down John's phone number, and told him I would call him if anything else ever happened. I also told him that we would be sending him a check for his services.

In a community where safety is a huge concern, there is still room for hope and trust. There's still reason for us not to put up a red flag if someone steps up and lends their hand to help, because as much as we think it is always true, there is certainly NOT always an ulterior motive, or something they wish to ask in return.

At the end of the morning, the man and I helped each other. He fixed my car, and I gave him the chance to fuel his passion, and divert his attention from his battle with cancer.

I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason. In doing a small kindness for my friend, I was meant to carelessly collide into that car, so that I may meet this man and unknowingly do him a kindness as well, as he certainly did me one.

And as a parting note, if any of you reading this post get into a fender bender, or need help jumping your car, I know a guy who is pretty amazing and can help you out in a jiffy.

Arrowhead Court: A Trip Down Memory Lane

When I arrived home for my first visit of the fall semester, I was greeted by the familiar black sign with gold scripted letters that read "Arrowhead, a Country Club Community", the words that I have known since I was four years old.


We moved to Winter Springs, Florida from Chicago, Illinois. Although I was too young to remember much, my parents told me I was very displeased with the move, and the only thing that gave me solace was the swimming pool waiting out back.

However, we were welcomed into a close-knit community of families who had kids my own age. As my mom went out for neighborhood Bunko nights, I ran around knocking on neighbors' doors (because I was too scared to talk on the phone) asking if the kids could play with me. The neighborhood seemed so big to me. But at four years old, I was ready to tackle it, and to embrace my new home.

At six years old, I met my childhood best friend just three doors down, and we spent nearly every day together at each others' houses. Sure, we occasionally had fights over whether we were going to play Pokemon Stadium or Barbie Pet Rescue, but despite these small quarrels, we were inseparable.

At eight years old, I had finally emerged victorious from the fight I had with my parents over getting a dog. I will never forget the day we drove our standard poodle home from Destin. Our dog Delilah was very stubborn, and oftentimes refused to go on a walk with anyone if it wasn't my mom. She was the giant, fluffy, cuddly canine that I loved to show off to all my neighbors.

At ten years old, more kids my age moved into Arrowhead, and friendly playdates turned into competitive games of manhunt. Although I wasn't very fast, and I wasn't very stealth either, I still had fun mocking terror as the other kids found my hiding spot and ran after to catch me.

At twelve years old, I cried when I heard the news that my childhood best friend was moving to Michigan. In the years to follow, I would only get to see her on New Year's Day, when she and her family would fly down to Florida for the weekend.

At fourteen years old, I got off the bus from middle school for the last time. As I walked back into my neighborhood, I had suddenly realized how much our community had changed. I looked around and noticed that there were no more basketball hoops, no more razor scooters, and no more skateboards. The only thing I saw was emptiness and quietness on the street, and "for sale" posts planted on every third house.

Through the years, I watched as my childhood friends grew up with me. Before I knew it, we were all in high school, and our lives were pulling us in all different directions. I came to realize that the things about my neighborhood that were once so exciting were things I had either outgrown, or things that simply didn't exist anymore.

By the time I finished high school, the city of Winter Springs had died down to a city of frozen yogurt joints, and I couldn't wait to get out of there. I couldn't wait to start my new adventure in Gainesville, Florida: a college town that was sure to never have a dull night.

The adjustment to college was very difficult for me at first. After all, I spent most of my life in a gated, sheltered, country club community with just over twenty houses. But after I got acquainted, I wondered how I ever got by for so long in such a small, peaceful town.

Oftentimes, I forget how much home means to me, until a month or so away from it has passed. Every time the gates pull back and I roll into the subdivision I've known for most of my life, I am flooded with nostalgia; the memories that overcome me are so clear and powerful that it's almost as if no time has passed at all.

I am so fortunate to have had a childhood so strongly associated with the friendliness of my community, even though it couldn't last forever. Even after two years of being a quasi-indepedent college student, it still feels surreal that my home is now a place I reside in for only a small fraction of the year.

People always told me to treasure your childhood, because it would be over far before you were ready for it to be. I may be grown up now, but I still hold my memories of youthful bliss close to me. My twenty-one year old self can look back and smile at the four-year-old kid with the bobbed haircut, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on Christmas morning to wake my family up at 5:30am.

When you stay in one place for a long time, it becomes a part of who you are. And I do believe that wherever my life takes me, I will carry Arrowhead Court with me forever.

A Visit to Tallahassee

Last Tuesday, I had the unique opportunity to pay a visit to the Florida State Capitol building. While there, I met prominent Gator alumni who were leaders at our university, and later went on to become leaders for our state. I made the trip to Tallahassee along with my fellow Gator Growl directors, and it's amazing to think that one school organization could present me with the chance to step inside one of the most important buildings in the state of Florida.

I am grateful for the chance to serve my University and hopefully do our alums proud by carrying out my position within Gator Growl. What's more is that my position allows me to practice useful skills that directly apply to my major. In essence, I am doing what I enjoy doing alongside campus leaders that I am proud to call my peers. It's great to be a Florida Gator, and it's great to let the Gator Growl!

Living the Dream

     It still doesn't feel real to me that I was able to make my first live television appearance as an anchor last week. I could feel the shock even after the fact when friends started to send me pictures of my face on their television screen. This is the image that is the picture-perfect representation of my ultimate dream, yet I still had a hard time believing that last week, it became real.

     This passion that I have for reporting is so strong, that oftentimes, I have a hard time articulating just what it means to me. However, there is one thing that I can say with confidence. Whether it's the feeling of goodness that comes from interviewing people that have a story to tell, or the adrenaline rush that precedes the camera going live and the studio lights nearly blinding me as I say my first words, I don't think this job will ever get old to me.

UFPD Does not Disappoint

     I read a quote somewhere that there are only three groups of people who run toward danger: cops, firefighters, and reporters. I realize that my line of work requires me to put myself in hazardous situations sometimes, and that's something I've come to accept. However, when the blazer is off and the camera is returned, it is my hope that I can retain my personal safety. But with a suspect on the loose that some are calling a sexual predator, I haven't felt like I can do that. In light of the recent incidents threatening student safety here at the University of Florida, the fear that my peers and I have been feeling is very real.

In a time like this, I wondered if UFPD would step up and help our student body --- especially the female population --- feel less vulnerable. This image, along with the many others tweeted by UF Public Safety, convinces me that the job is being done.

I've always had my doubts about UFPD and their reliability as a unity, but last night, my mind was changed. It's amazing to see how quickly the police and security force rallied, expanded, and cracked down these past couple of days.

An officer stopped me because he noticed I was alone in making the very short trek from Phi Mu to Norman garage, and he assured me he would watch me until I got to my car. In a school as large as UF, this officer made me feel like I wasn't just part of a mass of people the police force is tasked to watch over. Rather, I was pulled from the crowd and regarded as a single person, whose individual well-being was deemed just as valuable to that officer as it is to me.

All I can say is that for the first time in a week, I feel more at ease. After being scared to leave my apartment, I feel so much more confident that we are closer to catching the creep who has been assaulting my fellow Gators. At least, I feel confident that our safety is not so much in jeopardy as it was before, and UFPD, as well as the leadership of our president Bernie Machen, are largely to thank. I hope many others feel just as convinced of that in the near future as I feel now.

Why I Love My Job

Tromping through pouring rain, visiting slums of town where drug deals and violence are normal occurrences, getting yelled at from people you talk to from time to time, pitching a story you're passionate about and spent all night researching, only to have it assigned to a different reporter so the story can be "cast" right.

It's all in a day's work for a reporter.

I was warned from the very beginning that this job is not pretty, like it appears to be on TV. A reporter's 10-15 seconds of on-air glory are attained only from a long day's work, and plenty of stress to accompany it. People may know your name, and one day you may become a local celebrity. You can have the fame, but not the perks that come with it. You will never bask in the riches of today's Hollywood stars.

When you graduate from college, you have to be 110% okay with the fact that you will most likely move hundreds, even thousands of miles away from your hometown, your friends, and your family. Most likely, you will end up in a small town where you know not a single soul, where you will have to start your life over, living on a 25-30 thousand dollar salary.

Why, then, would any person in their right mind want to pursue a job like this? Am I crazy for choosing this field? I could have put my math skills to use and studied to be an accountant. At least then I'd be much more likely to find a job when I graduate, and would probably be making a heck of a lot more than I would be making IF and WHEN I get my first job as a reporter.

Well, I guess you could say reporters are crazy. It takes a special kind of crazy to do what we do and keep coming back for more.

Now, here's why I do it. Here's why I could NEVER see myself doing anything else.

I love people. I enjoy hearing different perspectives, seeing different facets, and meeting all kinds of people from various financial and social backgrounds. As reporters, our job is to give ordinary people with a story to share the chance to speak out to the community.

It's all summed up in one simple phrase: to give a voice to the otherwise voiceless.

I have never considered myself to be a natural leader. All my life, I always thought it was right to keep my opinions to myself and avoid arguments. I've always stood on neutral ground, extremely cautious if I were ever to take a step in a different direction. Some say this is a submissive approach, and they are right. But, I like to be fair and hear from all sides before forming my own opinion about things, and even then, I tend to prefer to stay open-minded. And since I am pursuing this field, it is absolutely necessary that I continue to do so.

A reporter who shows bias is a reporter who has the potential to completely and permanently destroy their credibility with one slip-up. Once that slip-up is made, it can be nearly impossible to recover from it.

I love this job because you don't have to be a leader to get people to pay attention to and care about what you're saying. And the people we interview don't have to be either. Sure, we always interview public information officers, senators, and other important officials. But most of the time, that is only to back up the facts we are telling, and add supplemental information to the story.

The ones the people, our viewers, really listen to are the ones who are just like them. 

I would be lying if I said I don't want to become a famous reporter, and have people who watch the news in my local community know my name and recognize me in public. And I do admit that I love getting to be on camera. But I want to be an ordinary person, too. I want to be someone that people will open up and talk to because they know they can trust me to tell their story fairly.

Most of all, I want people to see that reporters aren't the obnoxious people they see in the movies, who hound people for sensational interviews to make good television. My goal is for people to see us for the job we really do: to report on stories that the community cares about, and let people know that we care about them.

I want to make a difference in whatever community I land in, one story and one person at a time. Giving a voice to the voiceless is a powerful thing, and it's a power that even non-leader types can possess. At the end of the day, being able to do that is worth the blood, sweat and tears.

This is my dream, and I will work hard for it with everything I've got until it becomes a reality.

(Anti)Social Media

A video about the ills of social media has gone viral these past few days, and it caught my attention. It's a true eye-opener, and it's beautifully done. If you have not seen it yet, I highly encourage you to check out this link and watch it before you continue reading.

http://blog.petflow.com/this-is-a-video-everyone-needs-to-see-for-the-first-time-in-my-life-im-speechless/

This video really says it all, but here's something that I think we should consider a call to action. This video may influence us, but it's time we take it to heart so we can influence future generations.

More and more, I am seeing kids as young as seven years old playing on iPhones and sending text messages. Middle school aged children are lying about their ages and starting up Facebook accounts, using them just as much (if not more) than the average young adult does. It's absolutely sickening.

But what's even more unnerving is these kids are learning this antisocial behavior from US.

People in the age bracket of approximately 18-40 are the ones who fell victim to social media's sparkling appeal first. I can definitely say that I am much more addicted to using Facebook than I would like to be. And addiction to social media is a serious, SERIOUS problem.

Social skills are disintegrating into the comfort, safeness, and conformity of using social media sites. Because, we figure, why talk to someone face-to-face when sending them a text or Facebook message is so much more convenient? This toxic mindset is the mindset of so many people today, and it is the epitome of being antisocial.

A point to consider, however, is that social media has become such a large part of our daily lives. Social media usage has grown to the point where certain aspects of business organization are handled over social media. There are not many legitimate arguments you can make as to why this does not make sense. After all, people check Facebook just as much as they check their e-mails, so what could be more efficient?

I'm not saying it's a good idea to delete all forms of social media, especially since so many careers nowadays have such a strong social media base. But it's definitely time we realize that we need to cease the heavy abuse of social media.

If we can find a successful balance of using social media and practicing natural, human interaction with our friends and colleagues, then WE can change the dynamic of the next generation: our children. Children look to us, the first class of masters of social media, for guidance in the social world.

We need to show them that Facebook is not the social world. The social world is everything around us except our computers, our phones, and every object that has Internet accessibility.

Society is plummeting into an abyss leading to a brain-dead, virtual form of reality. And it is up to us to stop it. If we don't teach youths what being social really means, then we will be living in an entirely anti-social world before we know it.

If you are still reading this post, thank you for being patient with this rant. I hope you will join me in my efforts to find this healthy balance by taking some time out of your day to tune out of social media so we can tune in to life.