A little perspective...

Earlier this week, Loyalist College honoured me with the Hugh P. O'Neil Outstanding Alumni Award for my work as a journalist and commitment to the truth. I was given the opportunity to address the convocation, which I accepted.

I decided to tell them a story.

My story, or at least the short version of it.

You can read it below or watch it at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ya7Kb5RPUl4

It begins at the 35:51 mark.

***

Hello everyone,?

I am thankful for this honour and the opportunity to speak to you all today.?

Think of the work you put in to get here.?

The long days.?

The tests.?

Beers in the Shark Tank.?

Yes, I was once in your shoes.?

Well, not exactly.?

I mean… I took the tests.?

And I certainly drank the beer…?

But I didn’t actually make it to my convocation in 2003.?

I took a couple wrong turns that year, so it’s nice to finally find my way here.

When Loyalist contacted me about this award I kept thinking about what I would say today.?

It’s hard to reach you all, but really, I only need to reach one of you.

That’s how I approach every story.?

I try to impact one person.?

So, the best thing I can give to you today is a little perspective.

I married a beautiful woman, we have three amazing kids and I have been honoured with just about every journalism award in the country.?

I want for nothing.?

I am living my dream.??

And I did it all with my Loyalist College diploma.?

At least that’s what everyone sees today.?

But now about that perspective. ??

Let’s go back to when my dad left when I was four years old.?

Like a vacuum, chaos came through the door that he went out.?

I failed Grade 2.?

And then developed a severe stutter at eight.?

Year after year, that stutter followed me like a dark passenger.?

I looked normal, but that would change when I would try to talk.?

Even answering the home phone wasn’t easy.?

People would get used to hearing the silence and just say: “Kenny, put your mom on the phone”.

I remember praying to God to just take it away.

I prayed and prayed.?

But it didn’t go away.?

Looking back, I see now what I was learning.?

I listened, instead of speaking.?

I learned to read people and situations.?

I’d learn to roll with every punch of life.?

And, trust me, sometimes punches were literally thrown.?

I knew that coming out of high school I was going to be a reporter.?

It was my calling.

But first I was going to chase my other dream of playing football. I was highly recruited out of high school and set off to university.

Well…

I was back home before snow hit the ground.

Not one to wait around, I enrolled in the two-year print journalism program at Loyalist.

That dark passenger was still with me.

Like a cloak, it hung around.

I remember one of our first assignments.?

We were given six weeks to complete our first news story.

It could be on anything.

A car crash.

A fire.

That night I went to a city council meeting for the first time.

I sat there just listening; no idea what I was doing.

And it was about as fun as you can imagine.

But then I listened to a woman speak up about a housing development behind her home. ?

It was going to be built right where her children tobogganed as kids.

I saw things from her perspective.

I could see the hill.

The laughs.

The cold faces.

She was just a regular person up against the wealthy and powerful.

But she had fight in her. ??

The next night, I went to her home and interviewed her.

I stuttered the entire time.

It was brutal, but she was kind and patient.

Maybe it was because someone was listening to her.?

I came back with a story.

But now what?

I didn’t just want to finish my assignment, I wanted the story published. This woman needed her story told.

I was a first-year student and the second years were running the school newspaper.

So, I pushed my way into their story meeting, stood before all the second years and pitched this story to them. Trust me this wasn’t a common thing to happen. These were the second years, the ones with all the experience!

I didn’t even know what a lede was, let alone ever wrote a story.

Honestly, I don’t even remember what I said.

But it worked.

Because the story ended up being published.

I was off and running.

Right around the same time I applied to be the weekend reporter at the Belleville Intelligencer.

They gave me a tryout and I wrote four stories for them but didn’t get the job.

Still, I didn’t like that I wasn’t picked.

In fact, I was pretty mad.

I told Professor Joe Callahan this in one of our many talks about life and journalism.

I told him that I would never apply there again.

To heck with them, I said. (maybe other words were used)

So, he gave me a little perspective.

He told me I had no experience. The person who got it did, at least more than me.?

He also said I would lose out on most of the jobs that I apply to. (And he was right about that)

He also said, never close a door.

As my first year was wrapping up, I applied for a summer job at a community newspaper a few hours north of here.

I asked Professor Robert Washburn if he’d provide me a reference, which he did.?

I drove there and interviewed for the job.

Just a kid with a few clippings and a whole lot of drive, at least a long one.

I ended up getting the job.

The managing editor of the paper later told me that she called Professor Washburn before offering me the job.

They had both went to Ryerson journalism school.

She said that Professor Washburn told her I could do the job and he would bet his career on it.

I couldn’t believe it.

I was thankful, but still, no pressure, right?

Early on, I was told to call the local high school and interview the coach of the girls’ soccer team. ?

My stutter was really bad that day. Who am I kidding, it was bad every day.?

I called the school and struggled as I asked the secretary if I could speak to the coach.

When the coach picked up the phone there was nothing but silence on the other end.

“hello?” He said.

“Anyone there?”

“Hello”

He hung up.

Just like when I was a kid, I couldn’t speak. ?

My mouth was stuck.?

I was upset.

I was furious.

Just tired of it all.

This time I wanted to give up.?

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I said to myself I could quit and go home.

And never follow my calling.

Or…. I could call back and just keep trying.

I looked at the phone for a few minutes.

I can see it today.

I can feel the pressure of that moment.?

I said no way.

And I picked up the phone and called the coach back.?

I stuttered the entire time.

And it was bad.

But I did it.

I would finish that summer internship and return to Loyalist for my second year in the fall.?

Once again, I applied for the weekend reporter job at the Intel.

This time I got it. There was no way I wasn’t getting it.

I’d like to say my career was easy after that, but it wasn’t. I ended up graduating Loyalist and giving football one more chance.

And that’s why I never went to my convocation. The day it was happening I was driving east.

On the first day of my epic comeback I ended up getting injured.

Once again football was over before it could even really begin.

I had to give up on that old dream and purse the right one.

And that’s what I did on Sept. 4, 2004 when I followed the wrong girl to Ottawa with nothing more than a few bucks and set out to get going as a reporter.

I worked.

And I worked.

I never gave up.?

Along the way I met the right girl and over time became the person I wanted to be.

And the reporter I was meant to be.

In the depths of working on stories of children who died in the child welfare system, I would look back at my own childhood.

I saw how all those years of pain and struggle had prepared me for these types of stories.?

I broke new ground.

And most importantly,?

I told the truth.?

Ending up here before you today.?

So, to that one person in the crowd who has listened throughout, I hope you take this away from what I have said:

Never give up.

It will be hard.?

But never give up.

Thank you.

?