Archive for September, 2012

Here is a letter from a gay son to his conservative father that has been circulating around Facebook this week. It makes a lot of great points that conservatives should think about, especially if they have gay friends or family.


I am very impatient. As soon as I have revealed every turned card, and I know that the Solitaire game has been inevitably won, I have lost interest.  With the rare exception, I am usually bored during the climax of a movie – especially romantic comedies.  I pretend to understand some of the plays so I can support Jen through the Saints’ season, but every time we score I have little idea how it happened.

In the aftermath of Issac, I sat in a crowded coffee shop- one of the only ones with a generator- straining to feel the relief of the small box fan on the counter behind me. Not surprising, you can imagine my impatience at the amount of time it was taking to restore power to the city. The places that were open – which weren’t many- were cash only. And a few days of no ac in the New Orleans had me ready to buy a ticket straight back to New England just to cool off.

A year ago this week, I was experiencing my first tropical storm during Decadence, and exploring this unique city that was soon to become my home. The rain was so heavy that the streets flooded outside my apartment, and it was nearly impossible to open the doors due to the winds. This, I was informed, was “only a tropical storm”.

I managed to live here a year before experiencing my first hurricane, Mr. Issac, which left me without power for a week, and left many homeless and in an utter state of destruction.  In my 24 years of living in the Northeast, I can remember losing power for a week only a couple of times due to bad blizzards or Noreasters.  However, the way this city and its people pull together immediately after an emergency is testimonial to the resilience that I find so captivating.  Stores in the mall, still unable to sell any merchandise, were operating on generators just to let people walk around in the ac and charge their phones.  Bars and neighborhood pubs were outside grilling food for anyone who did not have a way to get food for their families. I was welcomed in as a local, asked about my “hurricane story” before the topics changed to, of course, the Saints and local food.  When a Second Line went by my apartment, I knew I was home.  It was sticky, it was hot, and the contents of everyone’s fridge was polluting the neighborhood trash bins. But I was home.

So much has changed in a year, yet so much is still the same. I am much closer to finishing my degree, and I have a more narrow idea of what type of social work I want to pursue. I have grown as a person, and all that jazz, but most importantly I have come to belong.