Endings Are Always the Tough Part

The Boston Herald

I've always had trouble with endings. My friend, Anne, gave me a card full of them one Christmas years ago, which she'd cut from newspapers and magazine articles.

“I need an ending,'' I'd said to her at least a hundred times. And so she sent me some: ``And that, folks, is not funny.'' ``Oh, yes, and have a nice day.'' ``Yup. Just like your sister, I say.'' “Besides, who knows what wonderful surprises are waiting for you, just down the block.’'

I never used them, but I liked having them on the bulletin board, above my computer. They made endings seem less serious.

But endings are serious. People expect something from an ending. A wrap up. A message.

Beginnings are easier.

I began at this paper on Aug. 1, 1985. I was 38. My kids were 15, 13 and 8. I had a degree in education, not journalism. I was a mother, not a career woman. I wrote from home, not from an office. I felt like an imposter. I was convinced I wasn't smart enough for the job, that I would wake up one morning and not be able to write, that I would run out of ideas or have nothing new to say.

What I've learned over the years is that no one has anything new to say. Everything has been said and done again and again. War, love, politics, pride, Santa Claus, growing up, growing old, wishing on stars, wishing you could take it all back, death, disaster. All these things are old. A writer's job is to make them feel new again.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be Jim Bishop, the columnist my mother and father read. He told big stories but little ones, too. He wrote about presidents and about the people down the street. And he wrote about his family. My parents didn't read books, but they read him. And he made them care about big and little things. 

That's what I've tried to do. 

I've had the best job in the world for 20 years. I've met incredible, kind, generous, unselfish people. You think, reading the paper, that all people are bad and no one is to be trusted and everyone is out for himself. Don't believe this. It's not what I've seen.

“Oh, yes, and have a nice day.'' ` `Yup. Just like your sister, I say.’' 

Endings are hard. 

A few final requests: Wear your seatbelt. Don't drink and drive. Never stop in the breakdown lane. It's dangerous because people drive in the breakdown lane. Be careful about the things you say around children.

And be kind to one another. 

I'll miss your letters and e-mails. I always liked the mail better than the paycheck. 

One last thought. Life may not be a dress rehearsal, but it isn't the last night of the play, either. It's a work in progress. “Besides, who knows what wonderful surprises are waiting for you, just down the