BUCKING THE SYSTEM: I'VE ALWAYS HAD A PROBLEM WITH GOODBYES

My oldest son, Jerry, has always had a problem with goodbyes.

It's not that he's spoiled rotten, although I'll admit to some overripeness in my 5-year-old. Rather, Jerry just has so much fun when he's doing something enjoyable that he never wants the party to end.

His reactions typically have one of two emotions: anger or despair. In the despair scenario, Jerry's bottom lip will jut out and tremble just moments before the tears well up after he's told it's time to go home, or to put away toys, or otherwise depart from loved ones, new friends or favorite pastimes.

Jerry usually reserves the anger for the times when he's not the one leaving. If friends come to our home and are told it's time to go, a rebellious pout replaces the tremulous lip, and Jerry starts a fight with his friend, almost as if that will make the parting easier to bear.

I understand both reactions, because I also have a problem with goodbyes.

Like my son, I always like to make the party last a little longer. I don't mind being the last one to go or the first one there, and I'm always game to help clean up if that means a few more moments to share with a friend.

It's been the same with my jobs. From my first real job at Druthers Restaurant to my most recent occupation, I've typically had lasting power. I even helped clean up the Charleston restaurant after the corporate office shut it down.

And let's not even discuss Reeve's Boomland, where I worked during Christmas holidays and summer breaks from college for several years after graduating from high school.

Plainly speaking, if I like what I'm doing, I don't mind hanging around and am reluctant to say goodbye.

Which is what makes this column so difficult to write. Because for nearly five years, I've shared my career and personal life with readers, often to the chagrin of my friends and family.

Everything has been fair game, and the effect has been seen in the number of people who walk up to me, look past the hair-do of the day, and then tell me they recognize me as "that lady who writes for the paper."

"And this must be your (fill in family connection here)," they say. "I feel like I know them from reading your column."

Thanks to each of you who said that, because it let me know I'd accomplished my goal.

You see, when I became a columnist, I vowed to write about what I knew: Being a black woman; being a native of Charleston, resident of Cape Girardeau, and homeowner on the city's South Side; and being someone's daughter, sister, wife, mother and friend.

They were roles I knew a large cross-section of people could identify with and might not mind reading about.

But I'm taking on a new role now and will no longer have time to write about the others. I've found that the passion I've had in reporting educational news uncovered an interest in teaching I thought was long buried. And so in two weeks I'll begin a new career teaching mass communication majors at Southeast Missouri State University that I hope will benefit both me and the students I teach.

My career here has been a wild roller coaster of a ride that I'm still a little hesitant to get off of. As I said before, I don't much like goodbyes.

But rather than becoming angry or full of despair, I'm going to smile. A big, bright smile that reminds me of the friends I've made, both professionally and personally. A smile that said I'm satisfied with what I've accomplished here and that I'm looking forward to more accomplishments in my future.

Maybe a smile that hints I won't be too far away for the occasional visit (or internship) back in my old stomping grounds.

So let's not treat this as goodbye. I'm a lot more partial to "see ya later."

Tamara Zellars Buck is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.