fatherhood

I haven’t written in a month. Here’s why.

No long post. Just an overdue announcement.

Earlier this month, before all of our worlds became unlike we’ve ever experienced, my family welcomed a baby girl. She is my second daughter, my fragile warrior, my source of unbridled smiles and marbly eyes.

I plan to write more about this new chapter of my life, and particularly how it has fused with my career at this time of global uncertainty. For now, here is a snapshot of a glowing daughter and an overjoyed dada, thankful for every blessing this world provides.

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Happy 2019! Here were our most popular posts from 2018

2018 was a year of transition. At least it was for this journalist.

I experienced my first full year overseeing my own segment on WXIA-TV, and I entered my second year as a grad student at the University of Georgia.

Above all, I became a dad.

This greatly influenced my writing and podcasting in this space. I blogged more sporadically but tried to make my posts meaningful. Throughout the year, support came in comments, Tweets, and messages. Whenever I debated pulling back, I received some form of appreciation that motivated me to keep going.

Here are the posts you clicked on the most in 2018, with a passage from each:

PODCAST EPISODE 64: Catherine Steward, photographer, WTVF-TV: I rarely ask a Telling the Story podcast guest to come back for a second episode. I like to spread the audio wealth and interview as many storytellers and journalists as possible to provide a full spectrum of perspectives for my audience.

But when a previous guest wins a National Edward R. Murrow award with one of the most pristine slices of video I’ve ever seen, I can make an exception.

Catherine Steward has captured numerous honors for her work as a photojournalist for WTVF-TV in Nashville. This may be her biggest yet. She took the Large Market TV station Murrow for Excellence in Sound, and the winning piece was a solo effort. I asked Steward to deconstruct her story, scene by scene, nearly shot by shot, to give the rest of us a chance at producing something similar.

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Sometimes, as a new parent, you just need to bake a peach pie

Last month I launched a documentary for WXIA-TV that involved a full week of on-air stories, online posts, and off-air promotion. It was a big week. It also came during a wild time at home, which have become more frequent as a new parent. Here’s a glimpse into a particularly moving moment, though not in the traditional sense …

***

I stand under an amber light, over an oven door, preparing to witness perfection.

There’s a pie in there. A peach pie. A Georgia peach pie. The best kind of pie. A pie I’ve made from scratch. A pie I’ve made to surprise my wife. A pie I’ve made in silence and near-darkness to not wake my six-month-old daughter.

No one asked for this. But I need it.

This week I’m a solo parent. My wife is in Los Angeles for work. Olivia is in Atlanta with me. She’s got a cold. That means I’ve got a cold. She’s sleeping through the night. I am not. I woke up at 3:30 AM yesterday and 1:30 AM today. I’ve spent the week launching a massive work project that was months in the making. I’m stressed. I’m sleepless. I feel red veins creasing my eyeballs.

But I take food seriously. And I love Georgia peaches. I inhale the pulp in 30 seconds and suck the pit for ten minutes. I buy two bags a week during their three-month season. Last Saturday marked the last sale this summer. I snagged three bags. When my wife left for L.A., I pledged to make a pie.

It seems selfless. I want my wife to open the front door, smell the scent of baked peaches and crust, and break into a smile. I want her to feel I can handle it all and still find time for a sweet gesture. But I also want to show myself. I bristle at boundaries. I feel them when we scarf dinner in five minutes before Olivia starts crying. I feel them when I fall asleep at 9:15 on the guest bed, trying to seize the Olivia’s-finally-asleep window and eat popcorn with my wife while we watch some stand-up comic on Netflix. The sacrifices seem small compared to the overwhelming gifts of parenthood. But sometimes I need to prove I’ve still got it.

Sometimes I need to bake a freaking pie.

So I did. I put Olivia to bed at 8:15 and strode toward the kitchen. I boiled the peaches, peeled their skins, and scooped their pits. I chopped them into eighths, mixed a batter, and poured it all between two rolled-out layers of would-be flaky crust. I slid the pie in the oven, rotated it after 20 minutes, lowered the temperature to 375, and rotated it one more time as the recipe instructed. Now, at 10:30, I stand over the oven, adrenaline drained, ready to wave a metaphorical middle finger to How It’s Supposed to Be.

I open the door. A steam cloud flies out, carrying the scent of sweetness. All looks golden: the caramelized sugar, the crumbly crust, and the Georgia peaches itching to bust through the slits in the top layer.

Perfection.

Then I slide on my mitts, pull out the pie, lose my grip, and watch perfection fall out of my hands and crash upside-down onto the kitchen tile.

I don’t cry, but I almost do. I don’t scream, because somehow Olivia has stayed asleep. I stand motionless, surrounded by dark, the stove light above me a spotlight of sadness.

I grab a fork. I kneel down, curl myself on the tile, and search for scoops of pie that didn’t hit the ground. Then I eat. It’s gooey, rich, delicious. It’s my middle finger to How It’s Supposed to Be, remixed to show How It Is. I consume the equivalent of a slice, then cobble enough bites to save for a slice for my wife. I call her and confess it all. I know you’re a germaphobe, I say, but perhaps you’ll make an exception for smushed perfection.

To my half-surprise, she accepts.

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The Solo Video Journalist is available for purchase. You can find it on AmazonBarnes & Noble, and the publisher’s web site.

Matt Pearl is the author of the Telling the Story blog and podcast. Feel free to comment below or e-mail Matt at matt@tellingthestoryblog.com. You can also follow Matt on Facebook and Twitter.

PODCAST EPISODE #63: Here’s how my journey in journalism affects my view as a dad.

A few nights ago, I sat in my living room at 3 AM, feeding my daughter while contemplating my first Father’s Day as a dad, when one single moment crystallized my entire fatherly experience:

My baby spit milk into my mouth.

I couldn’t have planned it. I probably can’t replicate it. I had just pulled Olivia’s bottle and perched her on my lap. I had patted her back to burp her, then clutched her against my chest to soothe her. We had sat silently, her head leaning against mine, when I turned my cheek to give hers a kiss. As my lips puckered, Olivia swiveled her head my way and sent an ounce of milk fountaining from her mouth. Most landed on my shirt, some across my face. The rest settled inside my jaw. Dignity.

But it wasn’t her action that encapsulated my life as a dad. It was my reaction. I pffted out the milk, looked at my child, shook my head and laughed out loud in a pitch-black room. I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t grossed out. I felt grateful.

I’ve been waiting so long to be a dad, I thought. A little milk in the mouth is all part of the package.

I often wonder how my job as a journalist affects my outlook as a father, and it’s not always obvious. But in moments like the Great Spitting Incident of 2018, it becomes clear. Same when the twentieth person of the week asks me, “Are you sleeping at all yet?” I am! And what little sleep I lose hasn’t bothered me. Neither have the middle-of-the-night feeds, exploding poops, and impromptu workouts from carrying Olivia on my shoulder for 20 minutes.

I can shrug it off in Atlanta because I remember Sioux City. (more…)

I’m a new dad, back at work. And I have already missed a milestone.

The day my daughter first rolled on her back, I left for work two hours early. I set my alarm for 6 AM, dragged myself out of bed without waking my wife, and tiptoed out of our midnight blue bedroom. Leaving before sunrise is easy … or at least easier. I can kiss Olivia’s cheeks, stand over her crib for a minute, and see only her eyelids. This means I can avoid her open eyes and their enlarged pupils, which beam even in the dark with innocence and – I hope – adoration.

I left before dawn so I could record dawn. I’m a reporter for an Atlanta TV station, and I had scheduled a full day of shoots for a story that would air a day later. I planned to profile a local DACA recipient who paints murals on Buford Highway, our city’s famed 20-mile stretch of international cuisine and culture. I wanted to capture the highway at sunrise, when adults and children spill out from their apartment complexes and await their various buses.

But I was slow to get out of bed, which meant I was slow to leave, which meant I arrived at Buford Highway minutes after the pink and orange blasts of sunrise gave way to blue. I missed the moment, and while I still got many of the shots I wanted, I wasn’t sure how I would fit them into my story. I asked myself, “Why did I leave my wife and daughter to get a few halfway-decent shots that most viewers will barely notice?”

But I know why. And the answer is now its own question I have yet to resolve.

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I’m a new father. And I’m aching to control time.

Last month I became a dad. I wrote this journal entry seven days later and felt it encapsulated my feelings a week into fatherhood.

***

Time moves too slow. A new father sits in the dark, his three-day old daughter in his lap. It’s 2 AM. His daughter cries in minute-long spurts and tries to worm her arms out of her swaddle blanket. Dad counters each move while trying to keep his daughter calm and, more importantly, quiet.

Time moves too fast. Yes, I wanted Olivia to stop crying and start sleeping. But even in a half-open-eyed slumber, I wanted to savor the moment.

Mom is sleeping in their bedroom, he hopes. They spent the previous hour pacing around the apartment, cycling through potential causes of the high-pitched pierce they’re sure has awakened their neighbors. But they don’t both need to stand guard. One can sleep while the other sits. Dad volunteered to sit. He wills his eyelids to stay up.

Everything about parenthood so far has been a fight for control. My wife and I have tried in vain to develop a routine. We have scraped together hours of sleep, first at the hospital and now at home. We have learned on the fly how to feed, clothe, change, and swaddle a tiny human who three days earlier existed only in the womb. We should want to fast-forward through this time and get to the good stuff: walking, talking, eating pizza, playing soccer, going to the prom. But then I look at Olivia, and I want time to freeze. Even when she cries, she seems perfect. She is untouched by the world and cocooned by her parents. At least that’s how it feels.

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3 GREAT STORIES: Best of 2015 (so far), written edition

Every week, I will shine the spotlight on some of the best storytelling in the business and offer my comments. “3 Great Stories of the Week” will post every Monday at 8 AM.

We have reached the halfway point of 2015, which has brought about some strong journalism about riveting topics. With that in mind, the time is right for some “Best Of” editions of my 3 Great Stories segment.

I will post my three favorite audio/video stories of the year so far next week. This week, my three favorite written pieces from January through June, along with what I wrote about them back then, with minor edits for clarity:

These are the families left to reclaim Garissa’s dead (4/9/15, Buzzfeed): Tucked away behind lists about animals and ‘NSYNC, Buzzfeed dedicates resources to a team that regularly produces long-form gems.

Here, global news correspondent Jina Moore presents one of the most heart-rending stories I have read in a long time.

A week earlier, gunmen stormed the campus of Garissa University in Kenya and killed 144 people, mostly students, in ways both horrifying and humiliating. Moore steps in the following week by describing, not the attack, but the search by parents to claim their dead children.

This is a devastating read, and Moore writes with such descriptive power that each sentence feels like a stomach punch. She puts a captivating spotlight on the aftermath of this incidence of international terrorism. (more…)

3 GREAT STORIES: Starring hearing, fatherhood, & photography

Every week, I shine the spotlight on some of the best storytelling in the business and offer my comments. “3 Great Stories of the Week” will post every Monday at 8 AM.

Veteran gets overdue hearing aids after VA delay (5/18/15, KARE-TV): Like any great investigative piece, this epic from KARE-TV’s A.J. Lagoe and Gary Knox details the process of research, phone calls, and interviews that ultimately lead to results.

But unlike many investigative pieces, this one shines brightest from its human center.

Reporter Lagoe and photographer Knox tell the story of Denny Madson, who has been waiting more than a year for VA-approved hearing aids. Madson wants the devices for one overarching reason: so he can hear his wife, Darlene, who is suffering in the hospital and can barely speak above a whisper.

Lagoe’s script and Knox’s camerawork set up some touching moments between the couple, including the happy ending. This is a textbook example of how to personalize an otherwise visually challenging story.

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