Typewriters, Aliens, and Harriet the Spy

I remember the first time I knew I wanted to be a journalist. I was five years old and my mother bought me a movie called Harriet the Spy. Harriet would spy on her neighbors and friends using various gadgets and spy gear that she carried with her on a tool belt. Whenever something caught her eye, she would write about it in her journal. I began to follow in her footsteps shortly after watching the film for the first time. I recorded everything I saw and heard as I snuck around the house, crawling under tables, and listening in on my family’s conversations.

By the time I was eight years old, I considered myself to be a pro despite the fact that, for the most part, everyone I spied on knew I was spying on them. My father got the biggest kick out of my antics. He was rarely home when I was growing up but whenever he was, he would lock himself in his office in our garage and say he was working. One night, I crept into the garage and slowly bent down to peek under his office door. The room was dark but I noticed a bright blue light glowing in one corner of the room. I was instantly convinced that my father was an alien and the blue light was coming from his damaged space ship. My spying days came to an end when I broke into the office to prove my theory, only to discover the alien typing away at his computer. I confronted him about my findings and he explained that the mysterious blue light was coming from the computer screen. The alien insisted I stop spying after that, “or else.” My mother, on the other hand, wanted to encourage my curiosity and passion. So she bought me a typewriter I had fallen in love with at a flea market that Summer. Thus my passion for spying transitioned to a passion for journalism and writing.

In middle school I gained a bit of weight and became somewhat antisocial in school. I was often teased and criticized for my awkward behavior which only led me to devote even more of my time to writing. I wrote many fictitious tales that incorporated real life individuals I came across. My mother was always there for me and very supportive. When I was bullied at school, I would call home and feign sick. She always tried to convince me to stay but I often persuaded her to come rescue me. At the time, she was taking classes at Bellarmine University and she would take me there with her occasionally. My favorite class was taught by Mark Sawyer-Daily who introduced me to the world of theatre. At first I became interested in acting when my mother took me to see Sawyer-Daily rehearse for his part in Actor’s Theatre’s production of Dracula. I was torn between my love of writing, my fear of social interaction, and my desire to become a different person on the stage just like the actors in Dracula did. I concluded that my life would be incomplete if I didn’t find a way to incorporate writing and acting into my daily life. This potentially explains how I got where I am today, taking journalism and acting courses at UofL while working towards a double major in Communication and Sociology.

I didn’t have the easiest life growing up but, then again, not many people do. I am able to acknowledge and appreciate all the blessings I have been given. My mother taught me to follow my dreams, keep my head held high, and not let anyone determine where my life is going to go except myself. She is one of few people in life that has never judged me for how excited and hyper I get when I’m passionate about a new story I’m going to write or role I’m auditioning for. One day, I’ll write a magnificent tale about all the courageous and considerate things she has done, all the trials and errors we endured together. It’s difficult to summarize what all she and I have been through to get to where we are today. I’m happy to say that the alien I wrote about as a child finally did fix his space ship and returned to his home planet, far away from us.

After I graduated from high school, my mother and I moved back to her childhood home where she and her ten brothers and sisters had been raised. A place where all my cousins and I played as children and the one place that has always been a constant in my life. When we moved in, I found my old typewriter hidden upstairs amongst the many trinkets and memorabilia left behind. Throughout high school, I had lost sight of what I wanted to be and do. Finding that typewriter was like breathing a long-awaited sigh of relief. It reminded me that I had a purpose, that I had stories to tell.

It’s easy to get distracted from your dreams and goals. Sometimes the distractions are a necessity and can still have a positive effect on your life. It’s even possible that those distractions could lead you to where you need to go but only if you keep in mind that you have a purpose, you have something that you are passionate about, something you can’t let go of. My distractions have always ended up making the best stories to write about. Minimally, they inspire and motivate me to keep writing. It’s important to follow your dreams but, like Harriet the Spy, you have to recognize that sometimes it’s the little things in life that you need to keep track of to get the story you’re looking for. Sometimes you just have to explore the light under the door.