First, a little background. I was born in 1985 at Keesler AFB in Biloxi, MS. I grew up in neighboring Gulfport, MS. Although Mississippi was the only home I ever knew growing up, my extended family on both sides, my parents, and one of my brothers were all born in New Orleans. My family's roots go very deep in the Gulf Coast region and while my home state isn't a place I'm necessarily proud of, my hometown sure as hell is. I love that place, the food, the people, the beaches, the culture, and yes, even the weather. I would not trade my formative years for anything in the world. I want to tell you about that place and what it meant, and still means to me and many like me.
For those of you who don't know the area (although after the Fall of 2005 how can you not?), New Orleans is only about 90 or so miles away from Gulfport. I technically grew up in MS but New Orleans was like a second home. I spent a few summers there and more holidays than I can count running around my grandparents' house in Duels St. or my great aunt's house a block over on Industry. I cherish the memories made during many a Mardi Gras parade. Donuts and fried chicken way too early in the morning. Taking turns standing at the top of a rickety ladder hoping to catch some shiny beads, a doubloon, or--if I could only be so lucky-- a Moon Pie.
I remember beignets at Cafe du Monde, Saints games, field trips to the Audubon Zoo and the Aquarium of the Americas. I remember hanging out around a few different kitchens taking in the smells of delicious cooking and trying to steal a taste here and there. I remember my Gramps making little popsicles for us out of Big Shot Pineapple Soda.
I remember New Orleans as a place that was bursting at the seams with culture. The people there were happy and vibrant, even if life had repeatedly kicked them after it had already knocked them down. I loved the fact that a few times a year (Mardi Gras, Jazzfest, etc.) all the people of New Orleans--and a few hundred thousand guests--could come out and have fun, regardless of race or creed or income. Everyone was a little too laid back and was willing to let themselves have a little too much fun.
If New Orleans was Fat City, Gulfport was its awkward, chubby cousin. Sure we had our fun with casinos and smaller Mardi Gras parades, but there was more of a small town atmosphere. In New Orleans, everyone knew a lot of people. In Gulfport, everyone knew all of the people. I won't say we had as much hometown pride, but we were all pretty close with one another.
Gulfport brought me countless trips to Hardy Court to watch movies. It brought me a childhood filled with swimming in the bayou with the gators while scoffing at the tourists who preferred the beach. As I got older, we'd spend hours hanging out at Edgewater Mall, trying to catch glances from cute girls (Fail). We'd go crabbing and floundering and take trips out to Ship Island to get way too much sun.
Waffle House was home to many a victory party after vanquishing our foes on the football field. The Shed was our barbeque Mecca. Vrazel's was where smart guys took their prom dates for pre-dance dinner. You could go to the Blow Fly Inn for a great meal and a beautiful sunset over the bayou.
I left home in the Fall of 2003 to begin college on the west coast and get away from all the things I had come to dislike about my hometown. I was tired of people who didn't have a desire to get out into the world. I was sick of being surrounded by those who were going to spend the rest of their lives in this little city--charming--but not a place to grow old. I hated with a passion the racism I experienced from some of those who called me their friend and many of those who saw me as nothing more than a threat in some form or another. College was a way for me to get the hell out of a place I loved, but just couldn't handle any more.
In August of 2005, I was 20 and beginning my Junior year. I had spent the previous two semesters living in London and traveling all over Europe as a part of your study abroad program. I felt like I was finally in a place where I could say that leaving home was the right choice. I was finally happy with where I was, and where I was going.
A few days into the semester, I heard mention of a tropical storm churning down near the Bahamas. Having weathered many storms in my life, I thought nothing of it. When you grow up in that region, these storms are just as much a part of life as blizzards in the north or fires here in California. You know they're coming. You know they're dangerous. You take your chances because every time you evacuate or try to make an effort to avoid it, you end up wasting a bunch of time and money for what turns out to be a glorified thunderstorm. After a while, you no longer heed the call of "wolf".
I continued on with classes as normal, checked the news for updates, and chatted with friends and family back home. Most everyone responded as I had expected. They were getting a little excited and taking the standard (but minimum) precautions. No one really seemed worried.
As the storm turned towards New Orleans, I began to worry a little about my grandparents, the ones on Duels. My Dad called to let me know that they, and my great aunt, would be staying at his place, a relatively high and dry two story house a few miles north of the beach, but near the bayou. My mom told me that most of my relatives were leaving the city (mainly because they didn't want to deal with traffic later) and heading for higher ground. My mom was going to stay home with the dog, like she always had, and clean up the next day.
When the storm hit, I, as expected, was unable to contact my family back home, but was not too worried because it took a few days to get reception and power back after every storm. I had a few friends around campus ask me how I was doing and how my family was doing and I assured them that everyone was fine and that this was just like every other "storm of the century".
"You're from Gulfport, right?" was the question I started to get asked. "You know there's flooding in the streets of Gulfport. I heard it on the news." I knew about the flooding. I had predicted it. Downtown Gulfport always floods. Really, it's no big deal.
I finally began to worry as the images of New Orleans started to stream in and video clips from the parking structures of my hometown casinos were being played on the news. It finally started to sink in that this was no ordinary storm and that all the bluster and handwringing was actually justified this time, after all these years of false alarms. For the first few days, I heard nothing from anyone back home. Fear finally began to overtake me.
I was sitting in class, worrying about my family and my friends when I felt my pocket start to vibrate. When I finally wrested it from the grasp of my pocket, I saw that the missed call was from my mom. I was both elated and panicked. All this time I had fought back the thoughts that maybe the worst had happened. I was in complete denial. I immediately tried to call her back but the line was busy, as it had been for days. I was crushed that I missed her call but I knew that she was alive, and that lightened my heart considerably.
In the following days I learned that my mom, all 5'1" of her, had climbed into the attic to escape the rising water. My dad, step mom, uncle, great aunt, and grandparents had to move up to the second story of the house to avoid the floodwater there. Almost all of the places I grew up hanging out were destroyed by Katrina. She took my grandparents' house, my house, my dad's house, many friends' houses. She even took my Waffle House.
It wasn't until after my brothers returned from the clean-up (they forbade me from leaving school to go home) that I got to see some pictures of the destruction and got some idea of what had been done to my hometown. It wasn't until about four months later that I finally understood just how terrible this storm was. It wasn't until August 29th, 2005 that I truly understood how important home was for me.
It took a tremendous tragedy and the fear that everything I grew up knowing and loving was gone to make me realize how much that region was a part of me. Seeing all of those people, my people homeless and dying. Seeing all of that culture destroyed. Seeing my entire childhood washed away.
I will never forget the inaction by my government.
I will never forget the mockery of those people, my people, by conservative blowhards across the nation.
I will never forget the paralyzing fear that those whom I loved most were lost.
I will never forget that day.
I will never forget my home.
I will never forget.