If you’ve heard me say it once, you’ve heard me say it a hundred times: my parents met at Technician. My mom was a photographer with a penchant for partying on the weekends, my dad was a straight-laced sports writer — a ladies’ man, even if he won’t admit it now — and the rest is history.
They filled our house with light and literature, giving me that slightly crunchy, granola-esque upbringing marked by trips to the mountains, issues of “Highlights” and homemade dinners almost every night. After years of rooting for the red-and-white at every opportunity and (lovingly) hearing my dad drone on and on about his college years, I finally committed to NC State — in the midst of a pandemic, mind you. It was a blind leap of faith into very comfortable waters, but I had no idea what I was getting into.
That being said, I don’t think my parents expected I would join their college paper.
To be fair, they warned me about getting into journalism. Their low-salaried jobs at a newspaper in the middle of Georgia didn’t exactly bode well for financial stability, and my mom didn’t want to see her eldest daughter follow in her footsteps that closely.
So, I made the decision to study biology. I strayed away from pursuing journalism full-time and, instead, sought a happy balance between the sciences and communication. I notched technical writing internships and worked my tuchus off to graduate in three years.
My parents would’ve been proud of me no matter what route I took, but their endless confidence in my ability to make it through the good, bad and ugly led me to where I am today. More importantly, they supported my love for writing and journalism, which led me up the two (steep) flights of stairs at Witherspoon Student Center and into the Technician office where they’d met so many years before.
Throughout the last three years, I’ve laughed, cried and fallen off furniture in that office. I met my best friends, complained about poorly written articles and watched editors and writers come and go. There aren’t enough thank-yous in the world for the people who’ve stepped into my life thanks to Technician, but I’ll do my best with the limited space I have.
Mari Fabian and Allie Remhof, thank you both for your endless support. There’s something to be said about friends you can chat with for hours with — and lord knows we do — but I’d be just as happy to sit in comfortable silence with the two of you. I love you guys.
Ethan Bakogiannis, I’m endlessly proud of you. You morphed from a budding sports correspondent to a leader in every sense of the word, and I’m so excited for who you’ve become and everything you will be. You’ve got this, kid. And if you need me, I’ll be there in 15 or less.
Wade Bowman, even if you drop off the face of the earth after we graduate, you made life worth living for a good chunk of my senior year. You kept me tethered to this job, reminded me that even bad things happen for a reason and introduced me to some really, really good music. No matter where you end up, I hope the people you meet in my absence treat you well. You deserve it.
Shilpa, darling, we did it. Between you and Wade, I couldn’t have asked for a better duo to run this paper with. You’re a beam of warm sunlight in the slightly dingy, window-less newsroom and I wish we could work together forever. Who knows — since we’re applying for the same jobs, maybe we’ll con some recruiter into hiring the both of us so we can ride into the sunset together. You’re my rock, my cheerleader and my best friend.
Finally — Mom, Dad: thanks for everything. Thank you, Mom, for taking my calls and welcoming me home twice a week, sometimes more. You’re truly everything I am and everything I hope to be. Dad, I know there’ll be countless Hurricanes and Yankees (and Phillies, perhaps?) games in our future. Thanks for pushing me to new heights and persuading me to attend NC State. You were right — it’s where I belong.
Anyway, this won’t be the last time y’all hear from me. There’s still playoff hockey, after all.
All my love — Sam.
