To: ThirdEye who wrote (37483 ) 9/7/2005 7:05:45 PM From: SiouxPal Respond to of 360923 A Child's View of Katrina Danielle Crittenden 09.07.2005 The tangled heap of naked Barbies and Kens reminded me vaguely of Abu Ghraib--minus a Lyndie England action figure standing over them. “What happened to this one?” I asked, picking out a cheap Asian knock-off Barbie to whose face some child had assiduously applied red marker pen. My three-year-old glanced up from the talking “Bratz” doll we had just found in the cupboard—to her delight and my dismay. She shrugged. “That one got a sunburn.” “How ’bout a make-over girlfriend?” chanted the electronic tart.“Hel-LO.” I deposited Melanoma Barbie in the trash and continued sorting through the toys. Moved by the plight of hundreds of Katrina victims arriving to stay in the Washington, D.C. armory, I’d decided the most useful thing our household could provide—aside from the mandatory check—was toys. The news footage of the armory showed it to be clean and organized, with blankets neatly folded at the foot of every cot. There would be hot meals, beverages, soap, showers, counselors—everything except what anyone who has had to endure more than ten minutes in an airport terminal or similar with children: distractions. Here were all these parents, enduring the most horrific disaster of their lives, not knowing where they were going to live or what they were going to eat—and with all these worries and burdens there would still be infants to soothe, two-year-olds to cajole, whizzing-about six-year-old boys to entertain through the hours and hours of waiting and boredom. When scanning the Red Cross lists of needed supplies, I wondered whether Xboxes and Disney DVDs should not be considered as essential as toiletries. My 11-year-old son, when asked to go through his things for stuff to donate, solemnly presented me with his Nintendo 64, for which he and his elder sister had saved their allowances a couple of years ago. I knew they no longer played with it—in fact, I’m sure any self-respecting young hurricane refugee will turn up his nose at this antiquated bit of game technology (one newspaper report today describes a family that was left with practically nothing—except the XBox the children had the wit to rescue in advance). But if it buys a parent even an hour or two of grudging peace, the gesture will be worth it (less appreciated will be the books my son snuck into the box: the ones with the gold medals pasted to the covers that teachers always recommend—those worthy books with edifying, politically correct heroes and themes). After a couple of hours of sorting—and wrestling with the three-year-old about which toys to give away (alas the Bratz did not make it)—we had a nice Container Store crate ready to be raided by bored armory residents. There was one big problem: The armory didn’t want it. Only as I loaded the box into my car did I think to phone ahead, mainly to find out where was the drop-off location. But I was told by a city official—on the Katrina hotline—that the Red Cross was running the operation, and at this point was only accepting toiletries. This isn’t to say that the armory was already fully supplied with toys—simply that there wasn’t enough manpower to cope with them. Other well-intentioned mothers bearing boxes of toys had already been turned away. I went back to the Internet, and with the help of a friend, found a group that had been organized specifically to send toys to hurricane kids. There was a drop-off near my house. Problem solved. For me, anyway. But not for those stricken parents now stuck in the armory--and for days and days in stadiums in the south—trying to cope with grief and rambunctious children simultaneously. I sure hope they’re running movies on the Astrodome’s Jumbotron.huffingtonpost.com