After interviewing an 11-year-old boy, who has his eyes set on bringing home the gold from the 2020 Paralympics Games, a scary thought crossed my mind: I actually, just maybe, might want kids.
Miles has dwarfism. But he is no different from anyone else. How his feet swept across the court and the squeak his tennis shoes made, trying to keep up with his speed as he swiftly sent the birdie across the room with his racquet, no one else can tell the difference either. Miles showed me not to let anything get in the way of chasing your dreams.
Not only was this a story about Miles and his wicked Badminton skills, it was about the supportive relationship with his coach and biggest fan – his dad. My heart swelled with the love I felt emanating between them. Seeing that made me want kids for the first time.
This is my favorite story and one of the proudest moments in my career. It was the moment I knew I wanted to continue doing this work – to tell stories that not only impact the people in them but also have the power to change me and others who hear them.
What I had yet to experience was the not-so-happy side of telling stories on TV.
You know, like being told we’re “fake news” after carrying around 70-plus pounds of equipment from location to location and ending the day physically spent but not having enough money to fill our stomachs. Or having to produce a minute-and-a-half-long video for broadcast in 15 minutes before the show starts from an outdated laptop in a McDonald’s bathroom because we can’t get WiFi anywhere else and we’re nowhere near the station.
As a viewer, you wouldn’t know these were the circumstances we work under because no matter what, at 5 o’clock each night, every show starts with: “Good evening and thanks for joining us tonight.”
For every happy story, 20 bad ones follow.
One weekend, working on a Saturday, I was editing another story when I heard my phone buzz against the desk. It was my news director. “Need you to head out immediately… child drowning at Stoney Creek.” I didn’t want to bring a camera to a scene where a boy is drowning, possibly dying, but I had to go. I was told to. If I didn’t, I could lose my job.
I rolled up to the entrance of Stoney Creek where I heard the sirens and saw the lights flashing. I wanted the police to tell me to stay back. They let me in.
I interviewed the sergeant on scene. He let me into the hotel’s indoor pool where a 5-year-old boy apparently stopped breathing and needed to be pulled out of the water.
I couldn’t go back to the newsroom empty-handed. I had to have video of something. So I hit the record button and panned around the pool where it happened. Wide shot, medium shot, tight shot. By now, the boy had been revived, and he was taken to the hospital.
Three other parents at the pool party saw me filming and came up to me with steam practically pouring from their ears.
“Does this have to be on the news?”
“How dare you pull out your camera! How insensitive!”
What they didn’t see was me, crying in my car when I got back to the station. How could I tell them that, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t film this? Yet there I was with a camera… filming it. I was escorted out of the building and told to leave.
It ended up running as the top story on our newscast that night under the headline: “Child nearly drowns at Stoney Creek.” It’s clickbait. And it’s stories like this that make me question my career and if I chose the right path.
Do I want to keep chasing sirens? Filming bloody crime scenes? Reporting to murders and fires and tracking down distraught families?
Not every day is like this. It’s not all bad.
Not too long ago, I went into work on my day off and got asked to go out to Norfolk, Nebraska to interview a same-sex couple who said they had been denied a family membership at the YMCA.
When I arrived at their home, I could tell from the hope, pain and anger in their eyes that they were happy to be on camera – to get their story out. I also got a comment from the YMCA’s manager, who read a prepared statement, denying the allegations.
The story runs and the comments pour in:
“The journalist who wrote this story isn’t telling the full story.”
“Tell this couple to go somewhere else if they don’t like it.”
“Being gay is a sin anyways, good for denying them.”
“Screw that YMCA, that’s discrimination.”
One day later, the facility changed their policy on family memberships, and that couple is now allowed in.
Stories that give a voice to the voiceless make the moments of backlash worth it sometimes.
But there is a dark side of ambition that no one really talks about, and it makes me wonder why I continue to bend over backwards for this. Why, after so many negative side effects of this job, am I still standing there with a mic in hand reporting live from wherever? What do I do on the days when my dream job is a nightmare?
Despite the scrutiny of my stories, the emotional exhaustion from chasing sirens and despite dealing with the hateful comments on social media, I will always remember Miles and his wicked Badminton skills, and like Miles, you take a swing at life and you don’t let anything get in the way of achieving your dreams.
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Jamie Perez is a reporter at KCAU 9 News. She moved to Sioux City from Los Angeles one year ago.
Ode is a storytelling series where community members tell true stories on stage to promote positive impact through empathy. It is produced by Siouxland Public Media.
The next event is 7 p.m. Friday, June 2 at ISU Design West in downtown Sioux City. The theme is “Stigmas: An ode to the power of opening up.” Tickets are available at kwit.org. For more information, visit facebook.com/odestorytelling.
