Why I do the things I do...

From the desk of Dan Price...

I remember those special moments so long ago.

My days as a young sports reporter. My eyes glued to the playing field, trying desperately to document every play, every score…every outcome.

That was my life back then. My job: to make an instant hero of the athlete who just scored the winning bucket or ran untouched into the end zone for a touchdown.

I would focus on the seconds immediately following the game and somehow store, in my head, the joy or the agony of the moment. I would glance into the crowd. I would see everything…everyone.

I witnessed the moment and the joy of winning or losing a sporting event. The parents gathering their belongings and leaving the field, some with tears in their eyes, some with smiles on their faces.

The crowd would disperse and the lights would flicker. The game was in the books. The moment in time recorded by me on a piece of paper. The story would turn into a clipping and eventually find its way to the front of the family’s refrigerator door or better yet become another addition to the family scrapbook.

That’s what I did so many years ago. I watched. I witnessed. I recorded a piece of life. It was instant gratification. It’s something I had to do. My mind wouldn’t rest until the story was told.

And here I am some fifty years later and I find myself doing the same thing.

Only my articles will not reach a family’s refrigerator. The articles may not see the light of day. My scribblings may even vanish out my office door, into the neighborhood trash can, and then whisked away to the dump.

I would love to go back in time, sit in the stands, and report: the joy of a young athlete scampering down the soccer field and booting the winning goal…the ball sailing by an outstretched goalie.

I miss the thrill of those moments. Simple moments in time, but a part of life…a part of living we all have experienced.

Now, I glance out the window. I see a homeless person walking down the street, kicking a beer can…the bent aluminum gathering steam, and disappearing down an alley. The old man continuing his walk down the street. Where is he going? What is his story?

Should I go find out?

Photo: for the fun of it -- my granddaughter Hannah, back in the day, looking to score a goal. A special moment in time.