I’ve been reading the Coloradoan for as long as I can remember. Growing up, my mother subscribed, and after I was out on my own, I did, too. If I was feeling broke, I’d cut back to weekends or let my subscription lapse for a couple of months, but I always came back. I have the Coloradoan newspaper clippings of my high school and college graduations, my engagement and wedding photos, and the birth announcements of my two boys.
I know I can read it online now, and I do. I enjoy the expanded coverage, the photo galleries, and the community blogs. (I post CCN there, as well.) But I continue to subscribe to home delivery. I like going out in the morning to fetch the paper from my driveway. I like skimming off the rubber band and unfolding the day’s headlines. I like seeing the faces and names of people I know, or know of. I like the grocery inserts on Wednesdays and the Sunday crossword. Most of all, I like the fact that it is my hometown newspaper.
My sons, at ages 12 and almost-10, are following in my footsteps. When the boys sit down to breakfast, one or the other will ask, “Do we have a paper?” They open to the comics first—each taking half if they are able; otherwise they take turns—then the sports pages. Dear Abby has inspired some interesting conversations, and it just wouldn’t be Sunday morning in our house without the funny pages stuck to the table with maple syrup. Both boys have had pictures of their baseball teams in the paper, and when our family dog made Thursday’s Dog of the Week last month, there much rejoicing—more clippings to add to my collection.
When I started this blog, it wasn’t long before I noticed a strange synchronicity with the Coloradoan. I’d decide on an activity I thought sounded fun and unique—such as a visit to Lloyd’s Barbershop—only to be scooped by the paper a day or so later. This happened half a dozen times before our paths finally crossed. When I was visiting the Museo de las Tres Colonias, a Coloradoan reporter was, too. Not long after, I opened the Ticket section to see an article about the Museo, complete with a full-length picture of my backside.
Yes, I have a soft spot for The Coloradoan, and I despair each time it shrinks a little more. I’m afraid my sons will raise their children in a world where no one spreads a newspaper across the kitchen table. If so, I hope they won’t forget how it was such an important part of our morning ritual.