Two Newspapers

A very unusual thing happened this morning.

It was one of those rare late-May mornings in Ohio with clear blue skies and warming temperatures, when the birds just can’t help but rejoice in song outside my open windows. But although perfect weather in Ohio is somewhat unusual, that’s not what was strange.

The morning started out normally. I got up and shuffled out to the kitchen to put the coffee on. The cat greeted me with his typical demand to go out and begin his morning hunt, so I let him out the back door, then circled back to the front porch to retrieve the morning paper. I know, I’m an anachronism. Even though I’ve already read on-line anything that passes for news in the morning paper, I still can’t get away from holding the hard copy and taking a second look. Besides, it does offer items of local interest, has all of the obituaries summarized on one or two pages, and of course, it has the comics. I started reading them when I was very young, and the habit continues to this day. They’re really not all that funny, but occasionally, there’s a chuckle to be enjoyed. Not today though, but that wasn’t what was unusual.

My daughter bounded down the stairs and greeted me with a cheery good morning, then went to the refrigerator to pour herself some OJ. She’s still young enough not to be a sullen, moody teenager, and speaks pleasantly to her father, often peppering me with good questions about the state of our world while we peruse the paper together. As she sat down at the kitchen table, we could clearly hear the sound of a car in the driveway, followed by the slapping sound of a newspaper landing on the front porch.

“Paper’s here,” she announced, then looked mystified at the newspaper in my hand. “Is that yesterday’s paper?” she asked. I shook my head. She raced to the front door to investigate, returning a minute later with another copy of today’s newspaper. “How come we got two papers?” I was as baffled as she was. However, being young allows one to easily adapt to any change in routine, and she seemed thrilled not to have to share a paper with me, so she sat down to do her own perusing.

After a few minutes of shared silence, unbroken except for the continuous birdsong outside, she put down her copy and looked at me. “Do you suppose this is what breakfast is like at the Romneys’ house?” Apparently the living conditions for the presumptive Republican presidential candidate and his family are a popular topic in her age group at school, probably like my generation’s fascination with the Kennedys.  Same concept, I suppose: large, wealthy family with multiple residences and a history of public service. Except for the Romneys’ more monogamously focused libido, of course.

“What do you mean?” I was caught off guard. You really need to pay attention with a smart young girl around.

“Two newspapers, Daddy. Since they’re so rich, don’t you think they’d have multiple papers? You know, so they wouldn’t have to bother sharing?”

“I suppose it’s possible,” I thought about it for a moment, but I came to question their need for even one newspaper, let alone two. “I kind of doubt it though.”

She gave me a look. One that I’ve been getting more often lately, and should get used to, since I’m sure I’ll be seeing it frequently. It’s the look that says ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about.’ All parents know the one I’m talking about. “Why do you say that, Daddy?” Disbelief was evident in her tone.

“Well, you know the mystery books that I write?” She nodded affirmatively. “You don’t ever see me turning to the back pages to see who did it, do you?”

“Of course not, Daddy. You wrote it. Why would you need to see who did it? You already know.”

“Well, honey, Willard (I always use his real first name. After all, what kind of name is ‘Mitt’ anyway?) Romney is a very wealthy man who owns parts of many large corporations. The vast majority of the newspapers in this country are controlled by large corporations, including this one. These corporations don’t generally include any news that would be harmful to their corporate interests.”

“What are ‘corporate interests,’ Daddy?” she interrupted.

“The one major thing a corporation is interested in is making money, dear.”

“So what does that have to do with the mystery books you write, and whether the Romneys have one, two, or no newspapers?”

“Why would he have to read what’s in the newspaper, if he already knows what it’s going to say?”

She stared at me, and I could tell that the gears were churning in her head. She’s a smart girl. A look of grave concern clouded her sweet young face. “This is a very confusing world, Daddy.” I nodded my agreement. “I mean, shouldn’t the news just be the news, not what someone else tells us the news is?”

“Yes dear, I think that’s what the news should be, but it often isn’t what we get to read.”

“Maybe we need to change that.”

 Again, I nodded my agreement. Like I said, she’s a smart girl. Maybe she will figure it out.

“I hope you do.”