Al Berger hadn't even seen or spoken with his daughter in 42 years until they were finally reunited this year in Hackettstown, N.J.

Tina Washington lost two homes in one year -- one to fire and another to a sinkhole -- leaving her unable to afford a Christmas tree or gifts. But a volunteer holiday dinner allowed the Allentown woman's three young boys to each have a present.

I'm sick of relatives and long-lost high school classmates asking where he will work after graduating in May. I don't want to think about it yet and I'm not ready to go, so shut up please.

We all have stories to tell -- you and I included. Some are naturally more remarkable and exciting than others, like my seemingly lame, personal anecdote).

But it doesn't matter who's telling the story, or even what the story is. The real value comes from whether the storyteller thinks his or her story is worth telling. And more often than you think, your story is worth sharing.

Journalists have a true privilege to witness and hear these stories firsthand. I haven't reported for the Collegian in nearly two years, and so recently a hunger crept up on me. I thought I had pretty well filled this appetite before becoming an editor, but I felt the urge to tell the news, to share people's stories.

The chance to feed that hunger finally arrived during semester break when I again worked for a local newspaper at home.

I couldn't believe Al Berger's story about his Oprah-worthy reunion with his daughter. How a father and child go four decades without knowing where one another were seems unfathomable.

I also couldn't believe there was more to northwestern New Jersey than tiny towns and jughandles.

I felt humbled and lucky after Tina Washington, the single mother of three, said her unlucky streak of losing homes prevented her from even buying a Christmas tree.

My personal story of the day -- well yeah, it pales in comparison to the others, and I would hope I could believe that one, since it was my own. And I haven't told that one until now. There are some stories you haven't told yet, either, aren't there?

Which goes to show that there are hundreds, thousands of stories to be told right here at Penn State and in State College. They aren't just in courtrooms or borough council meetings or holiday dinners for the underprivileged.

They are in your everyday experiences. Sometimes, all it takes is speaking to a random person for a few minutes before you hear a good story.

But those stories can be hard to find if the storyteller chooses not to share it.

That's a monumental part of what journalism is all about: Journalists want to tell your stories. Reporters are a way to share them with tens of thousands of readers. Your stories are more interesting than you might believe.

Think about it. The power behind one of your good stories can affect many of your peers. It can make someone cry. It can make someone learn a lesson. It can make someone roll onto the floor laughing hysterically.

Everyone has something to tell. They're often just reluctant to share it.

So what's your story?