An open letter from your biggest fan, cleverly disguised as
your harshest critic;
I will never forget the day a long
time ago, before kids, when we were just getting started in our life together,
you were working at the newspaper as an intern. We were so excited for this
internship—much better than selling tools at Sears or working prepress at the
paper during the evening shift. One day you came home from work, excited, and
told me you had just had lunch with Tom Hindman and Steve Shaluta. You said, “Steve
looked at me and said six years and four months, that’s when I’m retiring and
you should take my job.” Being the constant pessimist in your life, I said
something like, “sure thing, I’ll believe it when I see it”. After your
internship ended and you moved into selling ads for the newspaper, quite
possibly the most depressing job for your personality possible, we would scour
state and federal jobs looking for something a little more “secure”. I can’t
even remember how many jobs you applied for during that time, even got a couple
interviews doing things you could “get by” on but never truly love until the
day we saw it…The photographer for the division of culture and history was
open. Knowing that this could be your dream job, I tread lightly, trying to
remain the calm voice of reason, “they probably already have someone they are
going to hire, this is just a formality”, “there is no way you could get this,
no experience in the state, etc…”, all the while hoping with all of my heart
they would see the “you” that I see and know you were the perfect fit for the
job. Before your interview, when I was giving you stellar last second pointers;
eye contact, strong handshake, I happened to say, “make sure you tell them how
much you love West Virginia and how that is something you would bring to the
table”. Turns out, they did have someone for the job, someone that most likely
would have done a fine job, but the defining moment that gave you the
proverbial “leg up” was that you were the only person they interviewed that
said how much they loved our state. The job was just as much fun as you had
hoped, it afforded us with a comfortable salary, state benefits for our family,
and most importantly, the ability to travel throughout the state. You were able
to show me, and eventually our girls, so much of the state that we all loved.
At five and three, our girls have already seen more of the state than many will
see in a lifetime. Everyone raved about your photography, I was always in the
background critiquing every picture, “it’s ok”, “I don’t see what the big deal
is”, “you just point and click anyway”. My intention was always to keep you
humble amidst everyone loving you and telling you how wonderful you were. Then,
I started to see what everyone else was seeing…not that it was just a picture
of a mountain, but that it was your personal love letter to the state. The
emotions that would translate directly from you into your work is what made you
special. Technically, yes, it is not impossible, not even hard really, to learn
a formula that yields good pictures, we see it in every new “photographer” that
pops up…but to capture a picture that invokes emotions in the viewer is a gift,
a gift that you have. While your time at the division was a wonderfully happy
time for us, I am thrilled to be on this new journey with you as you move into
Steve’s position, patiently waiting for your dream job for those six years and
four months. I often say you are the
luckiest person I know, but this wasn’t luck…this was your skill, your love,
your desire to constantly grow and learn, and most importantly, your insatiable
desire to take care of your family. I know I often give you a hard time for
everything, but know I’m always one step behind you; rooting for you, being
your number one fan and your biggest supporter. I love you with everything I
have in me, thank you for taking us along on this journey. I can’t wait to see
where it takes us.
