Growing up, I was quite a Daddy\'s Girl. I idolized my dad and everything that he did. He renovated some of the oldest homes of New Orleans, and to me, that made him a hero. Some of my fondest memories as a child were going to his jobsites and helping him \"renovate\", but to a six-year old, that was more along the lines of helping move scraps of wood to the trash. So, by my definition of renovation, I helped restore the Grace King house and numerous homes on the beautifully Oak-lined steets of Esplanade Avenue and hauntingly mysterious homes of the French Quarter. At six years old, I became acquainted with the city of New Orleans in a way that many have not had the chance to do, and found myself drawn to it like a moth to a flame. I quickly realized that New Orleans was like no other place, and that New Orleans was the only place that I belonged.\r\n I remember hearing about a hurricane lurking in the Gulf of Mexico in the beginnning of my eighth-grade year, but like many others, I knew that it would turn at the last second and leave my beloved city spared, especially if my Mama cooked her famous seafood gumbo. You see, my Mama made gumbo everytime a hurricane was near, and everytime, it would veer off into another direction, saving Louisiana, and more importantly, New Orleans. However, there was no time for her to make a roux, because the Saturday before the storm, the kind people at The Weather Channel, Fox News, and WWL all told us that the now Catergory 5 storm, named Katrina, was headed straight for us. At this time, I was living in Mandeville, Louisiana, and we were supposed to \"evacuate\" to a Holiday Inn up the street, but once Mama heard about the potential for widespread destruction, she decided that the Holiday Inn would no longer do.\r\n In a frenzy, Mama packed up old pictures, family records, and enough Benadryl to sedate a one hundred and forty pound German Shepherd. She sent me and my younger brother to pack up clothes , and we only gathered enough for three outfits, because like many others, we thought that Katrina would be just another \"close call\", and that would would be home within the week. I asked her where we were going, and she anxiously replied with \"I don\'t know\". Again, and hour later, \"Mama, where are we going?\", and the answer still had not changed. Finally, after a few phone calls, our destination was set, and we left for Birmingham, Alabama.\r\n The car-ride was torturous, because hysteria had fully set in for all of the others who thought that they could \"just evacuate to the Holiday Inn up the street.\" At thirteen, I fully believed Hell was the interstate with neverending, bumper-to-bumper traffic. My brother and I tried to get my mom to play the liscense plate game, and although she did her best to appease us, I could hear her voice tremble. I had never seen her that way, and that is what scared me the most. I realized that what I thought was a little vacation from school would turn out to be much, much worse. \r\n Thirteen hours later, we were in a small basement with eleven people, a two-year old baby, three dogs, and my pet mouse, Elivra. We had nothing to do there except sit and wait for the storm to hit. I remember being outside feeling strong gusts of wind and wondering about the how much worse it was back home. Finally, we turned on the TV and now, there was no wondering about how bad it was. We saw our city take a beating, but we were still optimistic about the outcome...until the levees broke. At thirteen years old, my heart broke for the first time, not because of a silly boy or nasty rumor, but because I saw everything I loved covered with in brown, oily water. I hated the levees that I used to love rolling down. I hated the way the newscasters pronounced Lake Ponchatrain and New Orleans. I hated seeing people on their roofs begging to be saved. I hated myself for selfishly thinking that this would just be a little vacation from school. The devastating images on the news left me with a feeling of certainty that the city that I loved so much would never be the same again, and found myself wondering \"what if Mama had time to make her gumbo?\"