It was one of those rare nights when I actually sat down for dinner with my family.
We talked about Christmas, just days away. Then I grew serious.
“I’ve got some news, guys,” I said to our three children, Cameron, Claire and Evan. Cameron, my older daughter, was 11. Claire and Evan were nine and seven. Everyone quieted down. My husband, Ron, watched me. He knew what I was about to say.
“I’m not going to be working at CNN anymore,” I announced, trying to sound upbeat. “I’m going to have some time off to spend with you guys and do fun things around the house. Then I’m going to figure out what other great job I can get.”
Two days earlier my job had been eliminated at the Cable News Network, where I was a high-profile correspondent covering the Justice Department and the Supreme Court. I’d been dreading this moment with the kids. I hoped they wouldn’t worry too much.
Claire and Evan sure didn’t. “Yeah!” they cheered. “Mom’s going to be home!”
I looked at Cameron. She’d started middle school this year. All of a sudden my confident, carefree daughter was giving way to someone moodier, harder to reach. She stared at me with a look of betrayal. Then she burst into tears.
That was the way I thought I’d react when CNN let me go. But I didn’t flip out. Maybe I’d seen it coming. I was over 40. I’d worked at the network for 25 years.
TV news is a fickle business. I was away on vacation when I lost my job. Part of me was actually excited—for the first time since my kids were born I’d be able to celebrate Christmas without obsessively checking my BlackBerry or getting hauled off at three in the morning to cover some breaking news story. Deep down inside I knew I needed a break from it all.
It was Cameron I wasn’t prepared for. She was angry the night of my announcement and she stayed upset. For a while she glared at me as if somehow losing my job was my fault.
Then she tried a new tactic. One morning she bounded into the kitchen. “Mom, I have an idea,” she said. I glanced up from the paper. “Why don’t you become a reporter for Fox? Or MSNBC?” She looked at me hopefully. When I explained that getting a job wasn’t quite so easy, she stalked off in a huff.
Cameron was back at it the next day. “How about the White House?” she asked. And the next: “You could do your own radio show.” Every day a new tip. I should write a book, be in a movie, anything so long as it was high-profile.
I couldn’t figure it out. Ron still had a good-paying job and I’d lined up part-time work teaching journalism at a college. We were making it financially. Why couldn’t Cameron just be happy to have me around, like Claire and Evan were?
One day I was out running errands with the kids. Someone chatting in line at the store asked me where I worked. Before I could answer Cameron blurted, “My mom used to work for CNN!” And that’s when it hit me. Cameron wasn’t worried about losing money or security or anything like that. She was worried about losing her own identity, which was all wrapped up in being the daughter of a high-profile television reporter.
I remembered one time when Cameron was all of five years old. “When’s your mommy on TV?” she asked a neighbor kid. At the time I’d laughed. Now I realized what it meant. When Cameron thought of me she thought of my job. When she thought of herself she thought of my job. How on earth was I going to undo that?
I threw myself into being a mom. I baked cookies and brownies for the kids’ classes. I went on field trips. I took Cameron with me on a trip to England to visit an old friend. Cameron loved the trip and at the British Museum, we got to see the Rosetta stone, which she was studying in school.
When we returned, she went right back to job-coaching. I even caught her eavesdropping on my phone conversations, hoping one might be a job interview.
One morning I was home alone. Ron was at work and the kids were at school. The house was quiet. I thought of the day stretching ahead of me, how by this point at CNN I’d have been working for hours, adrenaline pumping, somehow juggling sources, phone calls, on-camera appearances and whatever I’d vowed not to let slip as a mom—that upcoming school play, homework deadlines, cupcakes for Evan’s birthday party.
How had I managed it all? And why—Why, God?—had everything changed so suddenly? I remembered how hard I’d prayed before starting as a correspondent at CNN. I’d even fasted one night, asking God whether journalism was the path I should pursue. The very next day I was offered my first on-camera assignment.
Okay, God, I thought. Where’s my clear sign now?
That afternoon I picked up Cameron from school. “How was your day?” I asked, expecting the usual, “Fine.”
Cameron was quiet. All of a sudden she launched into an anguished story about her group of friends, how everything was changing and she was feeling left out. She stared ahead while she talked then fell silent.
It took me a moment to know what to say. Finally, I told her a similar story from my own middle school days and explained that everyone feels left out at that age, even the most popular girls. Cameron nodded.
After that, I hardly ever got just “fine” after school. Cameron told me more and more about what was going on in her life. I reassured her that hair didn’t need to be long to be beautiful, that she was already skinny enough, that her body might change but she could still be the same Cameron.
Gradually it dawned on me what was happening. Just by being home every day, doing something so simple as talking on the drive back from school with my daughter, I was getting to participate in her life in a whole new way.
All of my years at CNN, I had prided myself on moving heaven and earth to be there for the kids’ milestones. Suddenly I realized where parenting really happens—in all of the little day-to-day stuff.
I began noticing all kinds of things that I had missed while working at CNN. The kids dressing up like pirates one evening, just because. Evan wanting to spend the night in an igloo he built on a snow day. Even Cameron asking Ron and me for a cell phone. Had I still been working at CNN I might have turned that request down cold.
Now that I was home and could keep an eye on things—especially all of the text-messaging—Ron and I decided to say yes. Of course, we did draw the line at Facebook (for now) and revealing T-shirts and too-tight sweat pants and so many other teen temptations.
Not long ago Cameron came rushing into the kitchen one day after school. “Mom!” she cried. “Luke wants to be my boyfriend!” By this point Cameron was 12. Luke was an exceedingly nice boy whom she’d known since pre-school. I had a hunch neither of them knew exactly what being boyfriend and girlfriend meant.
“Well, what are you going to tell him?” I asked.
Cameron thought about it a long time. She liked Luke. They were good friends. Maybe it was a good idea. A few days later she decided to say yes. She ran out to the front lawn, where Luke was waiting.
An hour later she came running back into the kitchen. “Mom! I’m not going out with Luke anymore!”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I just like being friends. I didn’t want that to change,” she said.
I told her that was a great decision. “One day you’ll be ready for a relationship like that,” I said. “But right now being friends is probably the best thing. for you both.”
Cameron went back out to talk with Luke. It was the middle of the afternoon. Crunch deadline time at CNN. No way if I’d still been a reporter would I have witnessed this moment, my oldest daughter’s first brush with romance. I felt a rush of joy. At the back of my mind I knew even this time at home couldn’t last. Ron and I had three kids to put through school. Soon I’d have to start a job search in earnest.
For now, though, I had my clear sign from God. Neither Cameron nor I realized it that night I told the kids about losing my job, but at that moment God was giving us exactly what we needed.
No, the world doesn’t make you famous for helping a young girl become a healthy and happy adolescent. But both Cameron and I needed to learn what matters more.
Cameron still comes up with job ideas for me. Lately, though, a new topic has crept into our conversations—her career path. My little girl is growing up. I thank God every day for the privilege of growing alongside her.
