PERSONAL NARRATIVE

At seven years old, I decided I had one path in life: journalism.

My mom had been a reporter long before me, and I grew up watching her dusty VHS tapes of live broadcasts, imagining myself in that world. Years later, I finally found a real newsroom. When I joined Gretna Media as a freshman, it wasn’t to pad my résumé or impress my mom; it was to step into the life I had always dreamed of. And I was terrified.

From the day I joined Gretna Media, my journalism adviser, Mr. Kaldahl, never let me publish a story I wasn’t proud of, never let me do an interview over the phone and never let me forget what real reporting demanded. He just gave me more edits.

In hindsight, the late nights, tears and endless edits were worth it because he saw something in me I couldn’t see in myself.

I was the youngest on staff, constantly second-guessing my place. But Mr. Kaldahl forced me to pour myself into my stories with heart, persistence and just enough stubbornness to get them right. That year, I qualified for the NSAA Class A State Journalism Championship. When my name was called for first place, everything changed. It wasn’t a dream anymore; my journalism career had already begun.

As I walked back to my seat from the podium that day, practically disoriented, Mr. Kaldahl, the no-nonsense adviser I once knew, hugged me and said, “Good job, kid.”

Sophomore year, my world completely shifted. Our district split. Gretna High School and Gretna Media were severed into Gretna East and the Unknown. I lost Mr. Kaldahl, the staff and the space that had become home. However, after the initial panic faded, it was replaced by something stronger: determination. I knew I couldn’t just stop journalism. I knew I couldn’t give up on everything I loved so much. So I started over.

That summer, I planned meetings, gathering all of the journalistically-inclined students I knew, and we got to work. After garnering a small batch of stories, our website began to take shape, and “The Wingspan” got its name.

I began editing, and with the help of my current adviser, Ranae Duncan, I started learning my second language: AP Style. Although “help” often looked like red ink and endless edits, she pushed me, and in turn, my staff, to our fullest potential. She forced me to spend hours researching the style book while I worked, trying to edit my peers’ work while also writing my own stories (and trying to memorize the fact that Oxford Commas were bad). Mrs. Duncan kept pushing the bar higher for all of us as writers. Then, I learned to push it even further. 

By the end of the summer, I was named The Wingspan’s first editor-in-chief, and we hit the ground running.

That first year was tough. I was a 15-year-old leading 17-year-olds. It was intimidating at times, but I never lost sight of the vision I had for the publication and the standards I wanted us to meet every day. I learned to set aside doubt and focus instead on helping my staff become the strongest versions of themselves.

We learned alongside each other. Although I was learning how to give solid feedback and coach reporters on AP Style, they never gave up either. I relentlessly asked them for more, and they all delivered each time. Each of us, that core group, Mrs. Duncan, Brody, Brayden, Reese, Onnika, Drew, Peyton and I were always hungry for more. And I’m beyond grateful that they were just as crazy as I was.

As our culture solidified, the results followed. Under my leadership, The Wingspan earned top honors across the state and national recognition. In April 2024, when we were named the NSAA Class B State Journalism Champions, I was stunned, not because I didn’t believe in us, but because I remembered where we started just a few months before that.

The next year, I focused on making us even stronger. Tougher stories, quicker deadlines, bigger ideas. We set the bar, and I worked every day to keep moving it forward. Writing improved, our staff began experimenting out of our comfort zones, and all of us continued to devote our time to this publication. In the end, we took state for the second year in a row and earned a National Scholastic Press Association Pacemaker Finalist nomination (naming us one of the top 34 student news sites nationwide of 2025).

Back-to-back titles and a Pacemaker nomination took work. I relied on my staff, who had become my closest friends and my greatest allies. Together, we learned how to make The Wingspan thrive in the way we knew it could. There were nights when I had to choose between editing six stories I had stacked up or studying for a math test, and days when I wrote breaking news on a four-hour bus ride to a swim meet. But whenever I felt overwhelmed, I thought back to that girl, not the one standing on the podium, but the one sitting on the floor in front of the TV, knowing she had a world of possibilities ahead of her.

In just two years, I earned over 40 awards and our team earned over 130, not only a testament to The Wingspan staff’s dedication, but to their talent, grind and growth. But, more importantly, we became a trusted news source for the Gretna community, not just for information, but for context, connection, and truth. The tiny group of students I recruited and trained grew into a professional newsroom with editorial standards, accountability, and purpose.

I was 15 years old when I started that legacy. 

Now, as I prepare to leave Gretna East and head to Boston University to study journalism, I don’t worry about the future of The Wingspan. I know the systems, values, and culture I helped create will outlast me. The students who come after me will carry on the Wingspan’s founding members’ legacy of inclusivity, creativity, and excellence, not because it was handed to them, but because they were taught how to build it themselves. 

I know there will be rejections and stories I wish I’d written better. But I’ve already started over, worked through challenges, and come out stronger. And I won’t let that little girl down.

Somewhere down the road, after a long night editing a story that finally makes it to air, or walking out of a newsroom I once only dreamed of working in, I know I’ll hear it again, in Mr. Kaldahl’s voice, or maybe, just my own: “Good job, kid.”