Who Wants a "Normal" Childhood?

My darling daughter surprised us by busting out the whole ABC song the other day. All of a sudden, she knows the alphabet. It is one of the those moments when you are thrilled and amazed at what your offspring is capable of. And, I have to say, it was a bit of a relief to have such positive evidence that she is growing and learning, even flourishing, in the midst of all the post-Katrina chaos.

One of our main concerns as we struggled with our decision about whether to stay or move away was what would be the best environment for her to grow up in. Of course, it seems obvious that life in a small Midwestern city would be healthier and safer. The schools are better, crime is lower, the environment is cleaner, and natural disasters are infrequent and more isolated. Plus, life is pretty damn “normal” up there compared to down here, and isn’t that what any parent wants for his/her child? But maybe “normal” is not what she needs most.

Right now she is falling in love with Mardi Gras. We have been to two parades, and she is hankering for more, which she will get this weekend. The parades start Thursday and don’t end until Fat Tuesday. Every time someone walks up to her and hands her a stuffed animal or throws a string of glittering beads from the top of a passing float, we get caught up in the magic of the moment. The whole bead-begging mania seemed pretty pointless to me before, but now the three of us glory in the whole event—the horses, the drums and horns, and the bright colors (but not so much the pre-pubescent girls thrusting their hips in tiny skirts).

New Orleans’ racial diversity (and tension), art and music and parades, architecture, and history, all make this such a unique place. I grew up feeling like I was not really a native of any particular place or culture. But my daughter could grow up as part of an authentic culture here. Is that enough of a benefit to risk her experiencing another hurricane? Of course, the thing about hurricanes is that you have the chance to get out of their way. So I don’t fear for our lives. But I do worry about my daughter having to experience all of this as an older child.

Right now, at two years old, she has been remarkably unaware of the turmoil. The seven-week evacuation and separation from her father was the hard part. Since we have been back together, and especially since she has been back in school, she is a happy little girl. She has never asked about the house or the cats, although she has missed one special friend. (And so do I. Her mom was fast becoming a very dear friend, and their absence is one of the saddest parts of this whole thing to me. They have since moved on to the D.C. area.) But she is making new friends and adapting quite well to the post-Katrina environment.

Although I have worried about her seeing so much destruction, what she seems to notice most are the rebuilding efforts. She is fascinated by all of the construction equipment we encounter every time we hit the road and the men she sees laying bricks or repairing roofs. Although I sometimes say, “women can fix things too,” when she talks about all of the “men working,” we very rarely see women in the work crews. Nevertheless, I hope she will one day be proud of her residency here and the fact that she was part of the rebirth of this one-of-kind city.