W hen I was 22 and working at my first job, my executive editor wanted to edit a piece of mine in front of me. It would be an understatement to say that I didn’t want to be a part of that process. At the time, my attitude was that you were welcome to make whatever changes you felt you needed to, but I didn’t need to watch you do it. It was humiliating to know that I hadn’t gotten things right the first time around; did we really have to talk about it, too? I cringed as this man—the real deal, a veteran with the Philadelphia Inquirer in his rearview—went through my pissant piece. He caught omissions and errors but he was on…