Aja Goare

Growing up, roll call always brought laughter to the room. “A.J.? A-juh? A-ha?” I would doodle on scrap paper and try to ignore the giggles which made me embarrassed of my Steely Dan inspired name. Of course, none of my 10 year old classmates had any idea who the band was, but as I’ve gotten older I’m happier to explain.

My mom is an artist, and my dad is a musician, and that is how they make a living. Because they’ve chosen a less than common career path, they’ve supported and even encouraged my siblings and I to try new things. I’ve tried to take full advantage of that, participating in sports and the arts, and even changes to my appearance.

The first time I ever dyed my hair, I was 9, and my mom had a box kit that she applied while I sat impatiently on a stool in the kitchen. From that day on, when I looked in the mirror and saw the newly highlighted golden streaks against my medium brown hair, I loved that people had the ability to alter their appearance. I’ve dyed my hair every natural color (and a few non-natural), and have had it elbow length to pixie cut. Besides hair alterations (which makes some girls cry at the thought), I’ve had my ears gauged and pierced 6 times, my nose, and my lip twice- along with that, a few tattoos. I love the reinventing process.

The people of the art world generally understand such a feeling. Artists’ are all about self-expression, and though I don’t believe that putting holes in my lip is truly expressing myself, it’s nice to be around people so accepting. I was probably born with an easel and canvas in hand. I’ve just always enjoyed art- virtually, every aspect. I draw, paint (acrylics, oil, watercolor), form, create. My high school art department was a big deal, and my fellow student-artists and I were constantly being asked for help around the community, doing things such as creating Child Abuse Awareness silk banners for the like foundation, teaching surrounding area youth the fundamentals of art, and taking photographs at the annual Pickle’s Blues Extravaganza.

In opposition, the world of sports is amazingly different and unreceptive of such self expression. My coach was always baffled when I would come to practice with a different hair color or shiny object on my face. But I loved the game. Up until seventh grade, the competitor in my (at the time) 4’5’’ person, had never been released, and once it was, I was hooked. I played as much as I could, literally all year round for 6 straight years. My senior year, my high school team went 19-6 and sectional runners up- the best Lima Senior High has done since 1980.

Buying hair dye, Asic knee pads, and putting gas in my car all takes money so I’ve been employed since 16 and a half years old. My first job was at FOX news station, where I was a teleprompter operator and floor director (and occasionally a sports score finder). I held multiple titles because we were incredibly short on staff- 8 people, and that’s everyone from control room to talent. The job was very fun, and all of the people were playful, young (mid 20’s and under), and not afraid to use all of their vocabulary (and yes, I mean all). Once the station closed, I was almost immediately hired at TV 44, a local Christian TV station. It was a much more organized station with countless employees, and I was the tape op. When I say organized, I should also include conservative, professional, and religiously driven- a drastic change from FOX. None of my “that’s what she said” jokes were appreciated, my lack of religious enthusiasm was frowned upon, and my nose hoop was never directly confronted, but you can only stare at it for so long before I get the hint. After that, I went on to work at Applebee’s as a host, which is by far the hardest job I’ve had. I’ve got newly formed wrist muscles, the ability to induce cooperation in grouchy people, and overall, a newfound leadership role.

I’ve grown a lot since those pigtailed, lunchbox carrying days, but there is still so much to do, so many places to go, and countless things to learn; which is why I have chosen journalism.