A/N: Thank you hmonster4 for the beta job, and whatsmynomdeplume for encouraging me to sign up. To read the other entries, go here: www. fanfiction. net/s/6476118/1/30_days_of_Emmett (remember to remove the spaces).

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As a kid, people constantly asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I told them I wanted to be Superman. When I made such announcement to my family, at the age of seven, my dad patted me on the head and said "good job son." My mom told me to keep my feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars. Garrett, my older brother, smacked me upside the head and said "don't be an idiot." That got him into trouble, much to my delight.

I had always idolized Superman and Clark Kent. How awesome would it be to be a superhero disguised as a journalist? Even though Superman was a fictional character, he was an excellent role model. He acted upon what he said he would do. He taught that helping people, being truthful, just, and being kind to everyone was a good thing. Also, he taught me that the world needed more good Samaritans. The whole 'help people in need' mentality stuck with me and I wanted to make that my life passion. I took my cue and followed in his footsteps. The only downside of having Superman as a role model was that I didn't have superpowers like him.

Somewhere between elementary school and junior high I lost track of what I wanted to be when I grew up, but the desire to be of service to society never felt me. At one point I considered becoming a doctor, but I quickly discovered in my seventh grade science class that the sight of blood made me queasy. In ninth grade, we did job shadows because the teacher wanted us to start thinking about out future. "It's never too early to plan," she would always say. We had to find someone who works in the field we were interested in and give a presentation to the class. Not knowing what to pick, the teacher ended up deciding for me. I ended up job shadowing a pastry chef. An hour into the shadow, I arrived at the conclusion that I would be a horrible pastry chef. I couldn't draw or pipe a icing to save my life.

In high school, I started volunteering at the soup kitchen. I did it because I needed volunteer hours for Honor Society, but I stuck around after my requirement was up because I liked it and I was giving back to the community. I was blessed to have a roof over my head, food in my stomach and clothes on my back, so why not help those in need?

A year later, a journalist who worked at The Timesstarted volunteering at the kitchen. Every Monday, he told me about journalism. He shared his experiences, frustration with editors when they would "edit" his story, and the cool people he got to meet. I didn't realize how much of a positive impact a journalist could make on peoples lives. One day, Mike told me that one time he wrote a story about a lady who started a community garden in her neighborhood. The special thing about the garden was that she taught kids about math and business. Whatever the kids grew, she should teach them the needed skills, like how to make a fair trade, to sell their product to their family and friends. Mike told me that after the story had been published, he heard that several other neighborhoods had started up similar concept as the community garden. Hearing that Mike's story caused a ripple effect was the coolest thing ever to me, at that age.

Volunteering with Mike made me remember what I wanted to do ages ago- be a journalist. Over the next year, I really got to know Mike and eventually I job shadowed him, just for kicks. Just standing in the busy newsroom made me excited. Multiple times I had the urge to grab Mike's notepad and hit the streets looking for a story. Unfortunately for me, things didn't work like that, but Mike did make it worthwhile for me. I met other reporters, and the editor in chief, and they gave me great advice.

The newsroom was alive with buzzing energy. Reporters were trying to meet their deadlines, sources were being interviewed, the televisions were set to the local news channels and CNN, and they even had a basket of cookies next to the coffee machine. Everyone was friendly to me and I will never forget the sense of family that reverberated the room. I could only image what it would be like if I were working there. After that glorious day, I made it my mission to work at The Times.

I worked hard in high school to achieve my dream. I wrote letters to the editor of my local newspaper, and I worked for the school paper (which was more like a magazine, but beggars can't be choosers, right?) for my remaining two years of high school.

From there, I went onto The University of Washington. I worked at The Daily of the University of Washington for three years. I graduated with no job prospects on the horizon, so I moved in with Garrett, who was in Seattle. Shortly after, I became a part of the Neighborhood Watch with him. During my second week of patrol, I met my wife, Rose.

She was running out of her then-boyfriend's house, yelling "fire." There was no fire, but it was obvious she had been attacked. By the time we had rounded the corner, her boyfriend had her pinned to the sidewalk and was trying to quite her. His punches did no good as she screamed louder for help. We both sprinted toward them, me taking the lead as Garrett dialed 911. We got the prick tied up, and we helped Rose as much as we could while we waited for the police and ambulance to show up.

That was the start of our friendship and that was how I landed a job as the crime blogger at the community paper. I won't go into details, but they needed a new beat reporter covering crime, and I had the passion for the job. I wanted to tell people about what was happening in their neighborhood so they could get involved and try to put a stop to the violence. Eventually they got a program together to keep the neighborhood safe, and I became the Times' crime beat reporter.

It's things like this that make journalism such an awesome job and it's what keeps me passionate about helping someone. When you see things happen as a result of something you wrote about, it keeps the fire burning and that's what you need, especially when dealing with heavy subjects like crime. That's why I'm constantly making jokes and act like an overgrown kid. Playing with my kids, laughing, thinking of jokes and innuendos keeps me sane. It's my stress relief, after a long, hard...day... that's where Rose usually interjects with "that's what she said."

But sometimes, the stress is too much and you can't handle it so you break down. I'll admit, the stress of the job has gotten to me more times that I would like. Fortunately, my wife is awesome and knows what to do to help me through those situations-She's my Lois Lane. Consequently, I'm her Superman- and not because I'm full of myself, because ever since the day me and Garrett saved her, she considers me her Superman.

And in some way, I'm living my seven year-old dream. I'm Superman and I'm Clark Kent. More so Clark, since the only Superman-esque thing I do is the Neighborhood Watch.

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I ended my story and looked at the students in Edward's Intro to Journalism class. I vaguely remembered what it was like to be a student. They were so young an naive, but they had so much potential to become great journalists.

I smiled brightly at them, excited about their future, regardless if they pursued journalism. "Any questions?" I asked.

The End