Memories are a Funny Thing

On August 29, 2005, I was seventeen years old. The week before I had stepped into my high school to begin the last year of my mandatory educational experience. That, was six years ago this August, and to tell you the truth, that time of my life comes in waves of flashes and frozen moments. I remember that my classmates and me were constantly discussing where we were headed after this last year, and I remember voting for Homecoming Queen and watching a child hood friend of mine being crowned. I also remember Hurricane Katrina and the talk that she had devastated the Gulf coast to the point that some wondered if they would return.I also remember vividly my father's, the youth pastor, eyes glued to every news channel in the nation and talking in hushed tones to my mother and his friends about the people lost and churches with out homes. I even remember my mother crying as she boxed up all of the canned goods in our house to send to the red cross to help the victims. However, I don't remember the images or the news casts. I don't remember the people chest deep in water as they flashed across my homes TV and the TV's of my friends. Maybe I was too wrapped in essays, ACT scores, and the big game, but still as hard as I try I can't remember. That is part of the reason I took this class, to see if I can discovered the things I so desperately missed as a teenager who was more worried about herself than the people who need help.