It’s been a number of years since I remember first meeting Carol Stark, editor of the Joplin Globe. It was sometime after the catastrophic and deadly tornado ripped through the quiet, small city that she called home, killing 161 people and causing billions of dollars worth of damage. Yet Carol Stark moved forward, she had a job to do.

As a young journalist, I was a little awestruck at first, not knowing what to say or how to act in front of this woman whom I admired and desired to emulate. I recall sitting in a room at a Missouri Press convention, where the movie Deadline in Disaster played, and watching Carol out of the corner of my eye. The movie, a documentary based on her newspaper at the time of the tornado, was heart wrenching and motivating at the same time. But, I remember keeping an eye on Carol, who sat with a look on her face that could only be described as pride as she watched her team work through their emotions and forge on. They had a job to do.

Not long ago, I was selected to serve alongside Carol Stark on the Missouri Press Association’s Board of Directors. Still a little bit awestruck, but with a few more years under my belt, I realized that Carol was warm and inviting and had one of the biggest hearts of anyone in the room. She loved newspapers to her core, and she wasn’t shy about giving advice or speaking her mind when it came to defending her passion. She became not only someone I looked up to, but also a dear friend.

After a lengthy, ugly battle with cancer, Carol Stark left this world and headed to the next last week, undoubtedly with her byline at the ready to record her next series of columns. How I wish I could read what she writes next. Carol taught me many things in the years I got to know her, but most importantly, she helped to remind me to love what I do and make sure every word comes from a place of passion and love, regardless of the subject at hand.

Carol Stark was, in my mind, royalty in the world of Missouri journalism. I will miss her wit, her guidance, her criticisms and her warmness. But, I will do my best not to dwell, because, as she’d remind me, I have a job to do.

Some people don’t like change. My son, for instance, is the first to notice something out of place at home, and seems to have an attachment to most things that he’s grown up with (cars, furniture, etc.). For me, though, change can be exciting. Like, the start of a new school year, for instance. Though my calendar no longer coincides with that of the schools, I still feel a sense of new beginning this time of year.

Transitions happen many times throughout our lives, whether through personal changes or taking on new challenges in our careers. We’re in the process of transition here at the Advocate. As you may have read a few weeks ago, our sports editor has moved on to a new industry, and we began our search for someone to join our family business.

We’ve found a new member for our team, and I’ll let her introduce herself to you all next week. In the meantime, though, we are busy filling the pages with the local news and sports you’ve come to expect from our paper, and we look forward to having a new set of eyes and fresh ideas brought to the table. I’m excited about this change, and I’m hopeful that we’ll be able to bring you an even better product each week (and maybe a few extras here and there, too).

With the new school year comes some new possibilities. I can’t wait to get started.

Can you say heat wave? Just the other day, I was talking with someone about how my summer tan is usually a lot further along by now. This year, on the days that I have some time, it seems that we’ve had rain and clouds and cooler temps.

This week, though, everything changes. If you need me, and I’m not at the office, chances are I’ll be poolside, with my kindle in one hand and a cold drink in the other. I knew it was coming. On Sunday, I was already receiving weather alerts on my phone, warning me of the upcoming heat indexes and high temperatures.

Of course, this is normal for July. Though, I think a lot of us tend to forget with the seasons. In the winter, we want summer. In the summer, we’re looking forward to winter. Typical temperatures for our neck of the woods this time of year hover around 90.

In fact, the highest temp on record, according to the National Weather Service, for July 16 was set back in 1954. It was 111 degrees. Notwithstanding the heat index calculation, I can’t even imagine what that felt like outside. Actually, I can. Because, to me, hot is hot. Once it gets to be 90 out, it can be 95, 100, or 105, it all feels the same to me.

So, with the heat wave this week, I plan to work on my tan, finish a book, and maybe even write a story or two. Summertime is spent best when we can relax and enjoy the sunshine, and I plan to do just that.

I came into the office this morning with my column, for the most part, written out in my head. I was awake early writing in my thoughts, and was eager to sit at my desk and put the words down. That was, until, I received an email that would change the course of my day.

Once again, I sit here in disbelief and heartbreak after the news came through of a shooting in Grandview that took the life of a 14-year-old teenager. A boy, slightly older than my own, who will never have the chance to step foot through Grandview High School as a freshman, won’t be able to ask anyone to prom, and won’t see the remake of The Lion King next month. Gun violence took everything from this boy, from his family, and it makes me sick.

It’s getting tougher and tougher to put my personal feelings aside, stick on my press badge and write these stories. I’m a person before I’m a journalist, and the human side of me types through tears more often than I care to admit.

I’ve written this before. I’ve pleaded and begged and wept, hoping for change. Praying for our children. Waiting for action. Yet, here we are.

Another mother is incomplete. Our community is heartbroken again (or still). Our police are seeking answers, and our kids have lost a friend. At what point do we wake up from this nightmare?
What will it take? How many need to die at the hands of senseless people with guns? I surely don’t have the answers. I wish I did. Until then, I will continue to write, and I will continue to love.

Tonight, when I finally head home after a long day with deadlines and meetings, and I can crawl into my bed knowing (hoping) my own Grandview teen is safely in his. I will close my eyes and I will see this other boy’s face. His smile from the photos that were shared on social media will shine bright in my thoughts. And I will wake up tomorrow. Something this boy will never do again.

I consider myself pretty lucky to have had so many loving, caring men in my life. From uncles and grandfathers, to my brother and, of course, my own dad, I’ve had the influence of men who work hard, love their families, treat women with respect and are always there to fix things when needed.

I have limited space this week, but wanted to take a few lines to wish all of our male readers a Happy Father’s Day this weekend. Whether you are a dad, or make a difference in the life of a child who is not yours biologically, I thank you and I honor you this Sunday.

My dad has always been one of my strongest supporters. He is someone who always has my back, but would also teach me some hard lessons if he thought it was needed. He has always put his family first, and we can usually count on him for a corny “dad joke” to make us laugh (or roll our eyes).

Happy Father’s Day to you, Dad. Thank you for everything, and I love you the sky.

I hope I’m not too late in wishing all of the mothers a Happy Mother’s Day. I know from experience that, as moms, we don’t get near the right amount of recognition we deserve, so I suppose that seeing this a few days late won’t bother most of you. If your Mother’s Day was anything like mine, it was likely just an ordinary day with a little bit of acknowledgment sprinkled in.

I celebrated with my own mom a day early this year. We went on one of our “mother-daughter adventures,” visiting the birthplace of Ginger Rogers for tea and pastries in Independence. It’s possible that we were unaware that she was even born here, let alone how influential her own mother was on the careers of many stars like Lucille Ball and Betty Grable. Having served as Ginger’s manager throughout her career, Lela Rogers sought the best for her daughter, who became the highest paid actor in the 1940s.

Learning of this tight mother-daughter relationship was appropriate for a Mother’s Day outing with my own mom. We have always had a close bond, and I consider her one of my best friends. Like any great mother, she loves her kids (and her grandson) with abandon, and she would do anything to protect her family. I have learned from the best.

When I’m with my mom, our conversations typically turn to the hilarious. She’s the type of person who doesn’t take life too seriously, and can usually find the humor in most situations. She’s probably the smartest person I know, and is my favorite gossip buddy.

Moms are some of the most important people in our lives. Whether by blood, marriage, or friendship, they can come in many different forms. To all those who mother others, I salute you this week. Thank you for sharing your hearts, your time, your talents and your laughter with the people in your lives, whether they are your children or not. I appreciate you all the days, not just on Mother’s Day.

Do you believe in coincidences? Some folks may believe that coincidences are the act of a higher power, while others may shrug off any sort of instance of significance.

Recently, I experienced a little bit of a coincidence. When I was a little girl, I recall visiting the home of a beekeeper in Grandview. I’m not sure if it was a field trip through school, or something we did as Daisy Scouts, but I remember walking with the group over to this older man’s house, where he invited us into his backyard. There he had what I remember being sort of a bee hotel, and he explained to us how the bees made their honey, what the job of each one was, and why they are important to our ecosystem.

He showed us, with big gloves, how he handles the bees. And he taught us to not be afraid of them. I remember being so mesmerized by this, because I certainly was one terrified little girl when it came to being stung. But, he was so gentle and calm and those bees seemed to know that he meant them no harm.

I have never forgotten this, though it’s probably been 30 years ago now. Just last week, as I received a press release about our bees being in danger, I was reminded of my trip to the man’s house as a little girl. Since then, I have driven by where I thought the house to be, and peeked through to the yard to see if I could see any sign of the bees or my old friend. I wasn’t ever really sure that he was still there or whether or not I had dreamed the whole thing.

On a whim, I responded to the emailed press release. I asked the Missouri State Beekeepers Association if there were any beekeepers in my area, and if so, if they’d be interested in talking with me for a story. This was on Wednesday, May 1. I didn’t hear back from them, which is fairly common in my line of work. I knew it was a long-shot anyway, and apart from knocking on the door of the home, I figured this was my best chance at finding him.

Over the weekend, like most weekends, I received a couple of obituaries in my inbox to run in this week’s issue. As I was scanning through one, I paused. Bill Bandy was a beekeeper in Grandview. I did some quick research and discovered that the man I had been hoping to find, the beekeeper I remember meeting nearly three decades ago, had passed away at 97 years old.

Mr. Bandy died on the same day that I inquired about him to the state beekeepers association. I wish I had reached out to him sooner. I’ve been doing this job long enough to know that pretty much anyone that you take the time to sit down with has a story to tell. I wish I could have told Mr. Bandy’s story.

Despite my regrets, I know he lived a long life. I hope he knew that he made an impact on at least one little girl who will forever think of him when she hears a little buzz in her ear. He taught me that bees are our friends, and that with a little patience and a gentle hand, life’s stings won’t hurt so bad.