No apologies from journalists. This is what we do.

Here in central Maine a 20-month-old girl is missing. Her dad put her to bed on a Friday night and she was gone when he went to check on her the next morning, he told police.
That was two weeks ago.
Several days ago, I was discussing the story with a non-journalist acquaintance and she remarked -- with disapproval -- that I didn't seem too feel very bad about it.
I gave some quick and generic answer.
But I've been thinking about it, and I'm going to try again here.
There are thousands of people out there daily saying how bad they feel about Ayla Reynolds' disappearance. You can see them in the grocery store and at vigils and on national TV.
I don't need to add my voice to that chorus.
But I can say, as a journalist, there aren't nearly as many people who can do what we do. Very few, as a matter of fact. And that's tell the story with accuracy, professionalism and credibility.
It's something that's gotten lost in the past decade with all the noise out there coming from the Internet and cable TV and the gotta-keep-talking 24-hour news cycle. A lot of noise going on, but not necessarily a lot of telling the story the way it ought to be told.
Good journalists are keenly aware of their commitment to their audience. Our job is to tell you what's going on. If knowledge is power, it's our job to bring the best knowledge to the people -- whether it's stories about what your government is doing, what's going on in the streets of your town, the halls of your school or the aisles of your grocery store.
It doesn't have so much to do with "selling papers" -- that old accusation we hear any time we jump on a big story. Of course we want to sell papers. It's a business. But few reporters or editors are thinking about that when they're working on telling the story.

And when an important story has to be told, every journalist worth his or her salt wants to be the one to tell it.
It's like playing for the Red Sox and wanting to have the bat in your hand when Game 7 is on the line.
And when that story is happening in your town, you HAVE to be the one to tell it. No one is going to tell it better. And nothing compares to the excitement of being part of a team of talented professional journalists who can't wait to get out there and tell it the best way they can.
We know a lot of people don't understand it. You don't have to understand it. Just be glad we do.
Two weeks ago today, a 20-month-old child vanished from her bed.
How do I feel about it?
It goes without saying.
Two weeks ago today, a child vanished from her bed. In my town. And I'm a journalist.
How do I feel about it?
Put me in, coach.