Newspapers

I got hooked in middle school. Every day, I’d come home from school and use it to relax. It had to be done in a certain order: first the headlines, then my horoscope, then the comics.

Nearly twenty years later, I’m still addicted to reading the paper. Tom laughs at me, but I don’t care. I have to read the sections in order, and woe unto him if he asks for the front page before I’m done with it. Even the cats know better than to lie on it.

I grew up reading the Centre Daily Times, a small newspaper that covered my small Pennsylvania town. Let’s just say that reading the CDT was not a major time commitment; some local intellectuals rolled their eyes at it and ordered the New York Times instead.

In college, I got to know my student newspaper by writing biweekly opinion columns about politics, campus issues, and the zany antics of me and my friends. I loved hearing from readers through e-mails and letters to the editor—at least most of the time. Even the occasional hate e-mail let me know my voice was being heard.

After graduation, every time I moved, I got to know a different paper: the Guardian and the Times in England; the News and Observer in Raleigh; and the Inquirer (affectionately known as the Inky) in Philadelphia. Each one had a different font, a different way of handling local news, a different editorial slant, and different comics. When I came to here house hunting, I made the acquaintance of the Post-Dispatch and the Kirkwood-Webster Times. Sitting cross-legged in my hotel room, I scoured the articles and ads to glean hints about what my new Midwestern life would be like.

Every year, we hear dire predictions about the fate of newspapers. Circulation numbers are falling across the U.S. Newspapers will be killed by (choose one) blogs, cable news, the internet.

I think newspapers have life in them yet. Yes, you can get your news from other sources; I check CNN.com several times a day. But nothing beats the investigative articles and in-depth analysis of a newspaper. Nothing beats sitting down with a cup of coffee and paging through. Even the sound of rustling pages is more soothing than the clicking of a mouse.

I like newspapers because they help give my week a reassuring pattern. In the Post-Dispatch, there’s Fitness on Monday and the weekend section on Thursday. The Kirkwood-Webster times shows up on Wednesdays and Fridays. Every morning, I know what to expect in each section, but every day the articles themselves are different.

People warned me that when you have a baby, it’s hard to find time to read, but when Ben was an infant, I carefully draped the paper over him and read while he nursed. Now every morning I take my coffee into the family room and read while he watches Elmo’s World.

I consider it my civic duty to raise Ben to be a newspaper reader. He’s not two yet, so it’s a little early for him to be reading articles on his own. Instead, I show him pictures of things that interest him: puppies, cars, or—best of all—Elmo. We cut out pictures, glue them to construction paper, label them, and hang them on his bedroom wall.

I worry that by the time Ben is an adult, technology will have leapt ahead again and newspapers will seem quaint. But for the most part, I’m optimistic. As long as I’m around, there will be a market for good old-fashioned newspapers.