I visited New Orleans for the first time in March of this year. I abandoned the Clinton Global Initiative Conference for some time, looking to mesh with the locals and share their stories. After learning how to eat crawfish with a bartending fratboy in Bourbon Street, I ended up sharing drinks with two Marrero-based cab drivers in the Harrah's Casino. They cussed out at the crime rates, and talked about their plans. Their lives, like everyone else's there, were changing and moving on up.
"I am going back to school at the community college and taking some hotel management classes."
"My wife and I gon' take a trip soon, wanna see the Niagara Falls."
But their dream-sharing was different from mine. They were not presented, like the elite college-aged world changers at the conference I was ditching, with a world of opportunities and empowerment. Their optimism was different in that they had nowhere to move but up. An innocent optimism of sorts.
It reminded me of my brother and I, alternating between couches at the Sumac living room for a few adolescent years. It's still blurry when I think about it. But we had nowhere to move but up and that we did, somewhat. This time more people are okay, and Gustav seemed to have been no Katrina. But the more things change the more they stay the same. They knew it, too.
"Man, you've been talking about that damn Niagara trip forever now. Can't see the day you go to fuckin' Niagara"
"Well, I don't think you ever setting foot in a college again, bitch."
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