Home is where the heart is, and where the soul cries out
I’ve lived many places in my life but never has a place has so profoundly felt like home as the city of New Orleans. After driving over 800 miles to get home yesterday, I hit the twin spans as the sun was setting in purple, gold and red technicolor over Lake Ponchartrain. I could have told you I was home with my eyes closed by the potholes that only Louisiana delivers. No matter, my spirit soared as soon as I was over the water and about to touch down on the other side.
I returned to escalating murder and mayhem – 18 shot – many dead – my son having to leave a playground as two men shot at two men two blocks too close. A friend’s brother attacked by a mob of 10 young black boys on Prytania Street – an ex con chased them down yelling out the window, that ain’t right. The police (suspicious characters in and of themselves) caught seven of the 10. And now what?
Oh my brethren, we have to make it stop. We have to heal your wounds, our wounds, this city’s wounds now and forever. This is paradise, this is our home. It deserves respect.