When did I become an adult?
As a 24-year-old, it seems silly to ask a question like that, but I feel myself drawn to ask it nevertheless.
When asked about my day by well-meaning friends, I often start a response that ends as a deluge of recounts of meetings and interviews, talking to city officials and departments, rushing off to schools for photo ops and interesting events and finding time to cram in lunch somewhere.
My cellphone contact list is starting to look like a City of Opelika directory.
I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve almost called City Clerk Bob Shuman whilst actually trying to call long-time Friend of Cliff Bobby Beauchamp.
I can speak with some semblance of knowledge when asked about the issues affecting our town, because I’ve had to report on most of them.
Yes, I’ve lived here my entire life, so I have the benefit of having known people here for 24 or so years.
My family has been here for generations, so the added benefit of having the last name McCollum has its perks. Some folks have no clue who I am, but they knew my grandfather, Mr. Bud, from the Big Apple or my dad, Homer, as their insurance salesman or their daughter’s softball coach.
The question “Are you related to [insert any McCollum family member]” is generally asked at least twice a week. I’m always happy to go through the family tree with relative strangers.
In my professional life, I do feel like a true adult, for the most part.
It’s when the private life intrudes into that professional life that I feel conflicted.
When interviewing city officials I’ve known since childhood, there’s a part of me that feels somewhat self-conscious about who I am.
They’ve known me as a precocious child for years. Now, I’m waving a reporter’s notebook in their face begging for quotes.
I find myself unsure of what to call them when asking questions.
City Council President Eddie Smith and Ward 3 Councilman Joey Motley are “Mr. Eddie” and “Mr. Joey,” respectively, since I’ve known them for decades, but Ward 5’s Councilman David Canon is “Mr. Canon,” because he’s a largely new acquaintance to me.
I find myself simultaneously attempting to press for more information from the people I do know, but immediately making myself back off because I don’t want to damage the cordial relationship I’ve enjoyed with them.
Every journalist has this battle with sources on their established beats, but working in your hometown presents a certain special set of self-created issues.
I think, though, I may be the only person for whom this is an issue.
While I enjoy the treatment and respect that comes along with ‘adult’ status, there’s still the part of me that balks at the label.
I feel it necessary to adjectivize that noun, throwing ‘young’ in front of adult to imply that while I am of legal age, I’m still young enough to be allowed certain defenses youth provides.
A ‘young adult’ city reporter is allowed to be slightly brash and forthright, more so than the ‘adult’ label could provide me.
I can cover city council on Tuesday and still be able to enjoy DJ Ozz at Quixote’s on Wednesday - the perfect fusion of ‘young’ and ‘adult.’
As I turn 25 in two weeks, I wonder how much longer I’ll be able to play my little adjective game, but I’m going to cling to it, Charlton Heston-style.
You’ll pry it from my cold, dead hands — understood?
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