September 2015 issue

Page 1

VIEW E R

R

Hitting the right notes

P6

Donald Doucet, accompanist since 2002, now takes center stage

Freshmen in Football

P9

A talented trio navigates the turbulent waters of high school football

What’s Inside News Features Sports Culture

2 5 8 13

Beyond Opinions Odds & Ends......... Photostory

16 17 19 20

ST. JOHN’S SCHOOL STUDENT NEWSPAPER | SJSREVIEW.COM | 2401 CLAREMONT LANE · HOUSTON, TX 77019 | VOLUME 67 · ISSUE 1 · SEPTEMBER 30, 2015

LOOKING BACK AT KATRINA

How destruction in New Orleans impacted the St. John’s community GRAPHIC BY BROOKE KUSHWAHA

Irene

Vazquez

O

n Aug. 29, 2005, my family and I took a weekend trip to visit my grandma in Alabama. We left early in the morning, just after 4:00 a.m., so we could beat the traffic. We loaded up my dad’s SUV with my Barbie suitcase, my parents’ duffel bags, and some documents and family pictures. It was still dark as we took to the freeway, taking Interstate 10 East the same way we always did. It wasn’t until I got to my grandma’s house and my family gathered around the TV that we realized all our lives would be changed forever. Hurricanes were a fact of life in New Orleans. One of my favorite childhood memories from that time was when school was canceled because Tropical Storm Matthew had hit. With the power out, my mom and I (clad in rhinestone-studded Lizzie McGuire flip-flops) had to traipse up and down the street looking for somewhere to eat. No one knew that Katrina would be different. Most of Katrina’s heartbreak happened because no one knew what was coming, and I know that this has changed me irrevocably. I learned that nothing in life is permanent: not happiness, not sadness, not the homes we’ve lived in our whole lives. Katrina forced a shift in focus to the things I can control. I call myself a writer. Everything I create is an attempt to preserve the life I’ve made for myself here in Houston. When I inevitably move on from here, the writing will remain when all else is lost. Every time I get melodramatic about Katrina, I remind myself that I was one of the lucky ones, and I feel somewhat guilty for my feelings of distress. Our house didn’t lose a single shingle, yet people close to me lost everything they had. A family friend of ours lost a piece of furniture that dates back to the 1700s and was owned by a relative who signed the Declaration of Independence. What did I lose? A middling sense of place. I go back to New Orleans every once in a while. We have family friends who live there, and it’s amazing to see how the city has changed and grown without me. Sometimes walking through the French Quarter, I see it through the eyes of my childhood, and it feels a bit like time-lapse photography. Even now, it’s hard to believe I’ve lived in Houston for nearly 10 years. When people ask me where I’m from, I tell them that I live in Houston, not that I’m from here. But I can’t call New Orleans my home either. How can you call something home that you can hardly recognize anymore? There’s a Front Bottoms song “Maps.” The very first line sings out that there is “a map in my room on the wall of my room and I’ve got big, big plans.” Likewise, I’ve got a map on my wall with a title that reads “I was born very far from where I’m supposed to be, so I guess I’m on my way home.” And I suppose that I am. I’ll spend the rest of my life looking for something to fill the void that Katrina created, though I know I may never find it.


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September 2015 issue by The Review - Issuu