The food was greasy and the lights were dim, but the energy was palpable. As my dad yelled at the TVs, adding to the chaos, I reveled in the excitement. At age nine, I struggled to follow March Madness, but I loved Taco Mac. The sports bar provided the perfect opportunity to chat up my parents’ friends and was the only place I could have just mac and cheese for dinner. 

 

My mom thinks Taco Mac smells like feet, so we shifted to watching basketball at home, and as I grew older, I started yelling at the TV alongside my dad. Basketball was more than a pastime; it was our bridge during my tween years.

 

Last September, Taco Mac became the birthplace of a more meaningful timesuck and form of connection. I hadn’t been back in years, but the electricity was still there, and as my friend and I planned our presentation for a journalism convention, we found new purpose and excitement. I had only written opinion stories until that point, but we started dreaming about news pitches we could write. I don’t remember who first mentioned the inauguration, but I do remember the tingling lightheadedness that hit me as the possibility sank in. 

 

After relentlessly calling members of Congress, we secured nine tickets and two futures as serious journalists. Before the inauguration, we interviewed students about their hopes and fears heading into the new administration. I couldn't wait to get to D.C. and talk to people on the ground.

 

Then, days before we were supposed to leave, the inauguration was moved inside due to excessively cold temperatures, and our tickets were rendered obsolete. I was devastated.

 

We had promised our staff two color pages of content, and we needed a new plan. The 50th annual celebration of MLK Day coincided with the inauguration, so we decided to write that story instead. In the church where Dr. King was baptized, I photographed his daughter and interviewed civil rights leaders. I spoke to an older woman who recounted her family’s experiences with discrimination, and the interview brought her to tears. 

 

Next, we ran to catch up with the MLK Day march. As I

walked through freezing streets, interviewing a union

president, I wasn’t disappointed about missing the

inauguration. I didn’t wish I was in D.C. instead. I was

engrossed in what my source had to say. I was planning

my next questions. Journalism moves so quickly that

redirection becomes second nature. I left that weekend

with treasured memories and my first-ever center spread. 

 

I have always valued stories and connection above all.

My MLK Day reporting was more than a distraction or an

exciting story chase; it was a window into Atlanta’s

history and current political climate.

 

Moments like these make in-depth political journalism powerful. Rather than merely explaining a policy or an event, I can connect news to peoples’ lived experiences, building empathy and helping readers understand the implications of seemingly distant events.

 

Throughout the following months, I reported on countless protests, capturing part of my city’s history in real time. I dipped my toe into broadcast journalism during my internship at WSB-TV, where I helped assemble newscasts and felt the rush of writing a breaking news script.

 

In May, the original Taco Mac closed permanently, but my energy for reporting has only grown. Last summer, I studied editorial leadership at the Columbia Scholastic Press Association’s conference for student journalists, and I visited the New York Times, where I saw the never-printed front page that would have announced Hillary Clinton’s 2016 election victory. I have experienced challenges, late nights and disappointments, but the human connection and awe-inspiring impact of reporting keep me coming back. I look forward to the growth opportunities that await me in college as I see where my stories take me next.