so I've had two run-ins with Katrina victims.
the first happened at the beginning of September, when I was on vacation in North Carolina at Holden Beach with another 200 college-age kids down there for a week of fun. I didn't feel like swimming in the ocean one morning, so instead I walked up and down the beach for a good hour, enjoying a little quiet time by the ocean. Don't get me wrong, rambuncious crazy college guys and girls for a week on a beach is the most fun you'll ever have, but it was nice to get some time away from it so I could enjoy it more when I got back to it.
Surprisingly, our intimidating numbers did not squelch the odd other vacationer or beach regular. so, during my beach stroll, I crossed paths with this guy (God forgive me, but I can't remember his name) and his dog. somehow, we got to talking. he asked where I was from, so I said from Ohio with a zillion other college kids; I asked him the same, and he said from New Orleans. I guess he rented out several houses down there which are now basically destroyed, and he left with only bare essentials and his old and lovable pooch. Here this guy and I were talking about a natural catastophe and this creature was running around, nipping at a bug zipping around his head. The whimsical irony got me thinking a little, and I liked the image.
a little more conversation, and I find this guy is a lot like me. True, he was a solid 15 years older than me, but he was a Journalism major (that's what I want to be with time) and loved to write and stuff like that. and here he was, living out of a family beach home by another ocean on another shore, someone not too different from myself. Suddenly, Katrina's inland reach didn't seem as far away as New Orleans.
the second encounter happened while I was at work. I manage the drive-thru, which means I'm a master at multi-tasking; I have the ability to make change, take change, talk to a customer, and take an order all at the same time. Yes, I know, it's amazing. Anyways, we hit a pocket of slow flow in the drive-thru, and this lady comes through. I'm making her change, and this little baby in a carseat in the back is giving me the most intent look an infant could give. I pointed it out to his guardian, and she said, "Yeah, he studies everyone like that. He's probably still confused after everything; he and my daughter, his mother, lived in New Orleans and left the day before Katrina hit. She's down there right now, and she called me on the phone crying last night. The area they lived in wasn't supposed to be hit that badly, but she got down there and said it was terrible how much was destroyed." Another blasted car came onto my headset, though, so I had to wave her on as captivated as I was with her story. But I smiled at her grandson, and after thinking about it, he gave me the most delighted infant smile I think I've ever seen. I never even caught their names
so now I have these faces and stories to attach to the mass of people estranged from their homes and familiar comforts and a million things I have daily, but show no gratefulness for, and I still don't know names. But the mass is no longer a faceless blur - I pick out personal details in the mob. and for some reason...that makes all the difference.
the first happened at the beginning of September, when I was on vacation in North Carolina at Holden Beach with another 200 college-age kids down there for a week of fun. I didn't feel like swimming in the ocean one morning, so instead I walked up and down the beach for a good hour, enjoying a little quiet time by the ocean. Don't get me wrong, rambuncious crazy college guys and girls for a week on a beach is the most fun you'll ever have, but it was nice to get some time away from it so I could enjoy it more when I got back to it.
Surprisingly, our intimidating numbers did not squelch the odd other vacationer or beach regular. so, during my beach stroll, I crossed paths with this guy (God forgive me, but I can't remember his name) and his dog. somehow, we got to talking. he asked where I was from, so I said from Ohio with a zillion other college kids; I asked him the same, and he said from New Orleans. I guess he rented out several houses down there which are now basically destroyed, and he left with only bare essentials and his old and lovable pooch. Here this guy and I were talking about a natural catastophe and this creature was running around, nipping at a bug zipping around his head. The whimsical irony got me thinking a little, and I liked the image.
a little more conversation, and I find this guy is a lot like me. True, he was a solid 15 years older than me, but he was a Journalism major (that's what I want to be with time) and loved to write and stuff like that. and here he was, living out of a family beach home by another ocean on another shore, someone not too different from myself. Suddenly, Katrina's inland reach didn't seem as far away as New Orleans.
the second encounter happened while I was at work. I manage the drive-thru, which means I'm a master at multi-tasking; I have the ability to make change, take change, talk to a customer, and take an order all at the same time. Yes, I know, it's amazing. Anyways, we hit a pocket of slow flow in the drive-thru, and this lady comes through. I'm making her change, and this little baby in a carseat in the back is giving me the most intent look an infant could give. I pointed it out to his guardian, and she said, "Yeah, he studies everyone like that. He's probably still confused after everything; he and my daughter, his mother, lived in New Orleans and left the day before Katrina hit. She's down there right now, and she called me on the phone crying last night. The area they lived in wasn't supposed to be hit that badly, but she got down there and said it was terrible how much was destroyed." Another blasted car came onto my headset, though, so I had to wave her on as captivated as I was with her story. But I smiled at her grandson, and after thinking about it, he gave me the most delighted infant smile I think I've ever seen. I never even caught their names
so now I have these faces and stories to attach to the mass of people estranged from their homes and familiar comforts and a million things I have daily, but show no gratefulness for, and I still don't know names. But the mass is no longer a faceless blur - I pick out personal details in the mob. and for some reason...that makes all the difference.
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