A few months would pass, and once again I’d beg for a subscription to a newspaper, any newspaper. But we just couldn’t afford it. Oftentimes, my stepfather would return from the graveyard shift as a police officer, and before turning in to sleep, he’d drop the Sunday Record on the kitchen table. This was a treat beyond words. I’d see this massive stack of papers resting on our ancient kitchen table and my day would be set. I was able to see the world while flipping through the pages.
About six months ago, at the age of 34, I ordered my first subscription to a newspaper, the New York Times. Every morning as I open the front gate, the world awaits in a small blue bag on my front stoop. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized that, in addition to all that I explore and learn through its pages each day, the fact that I’m able to do so, means that much more.