Twenty-six days 'til Thirty...Island living...

You may or may not know that I grew up on an Island.  Specifically, Hatteras Island off the coast of North Carolina (sometimes referred to as the Outer Banks):

The Picture to the left is a satellite view of our little island.

 




The picture to the right is of "The Point", one of our popular beach spots where you could drive right up to the ocean.







Hatteras Island is about 50 miles from the northern most point to the southern most point and only a few thousand feet wide.  On average, according to the National Park Service, Hatteras is 1500 ft. wide, but there are some portions of the island that are much skinnier and some parts that are much wider.  The island encompasses about 33 square-miles and has a (permanent) population of around 4,000 residents.

There is A LOT of history on and around Hatteras including Blackbeard the pirate, The first ever british colony in 1584, as well as the tallest working brick lighthouse in the United States:

While it may seem like such an idyllic place to grow up, I've always had a bit of a love-hate relationship with my hometown.  I think a lot of people do when it comes to where they grew up.  I love that I was surrounded by beaches...literally.  I could hear the waves crashing from my bedroom.  And I was almost always tan.  I may miss that the most. 

With that, living on a barrier island also had its natural hazzards, if you will.  I often forget when I'm talking with most people about an impending storm or "weather event" that the majority of the population in the US didn't spend almost the entirity of their lives dealing with and preparing for hurricanes or noreasters.  In fact, just growing up with the constant threat of hurricanes afforded me with a knowledge of tropical weather that a lot of people don't have or need to have for that matter.  I couldn't even tell you how many hurricanes I've been through.  I've slept through them, driven through them, and ocassionally (for a couple super scary ones) evacuated from them.  I've watched flood waters rise and fall sometimes with just gusty weather.  Here are some shots of Hatteras (and a lot of the coastal US) getting the business from Hurricane Isabel (note: I had moved away by the time this storm hit):

 

 

This lovely storm had the audacity to cut a new inlet across the only road we have.  This cut off a large portion of the residents from the northern part of the island...the only means to get off of the island: 



On the negative side...these storms almost always cause damage to my little hometown.  Even when the rest of the country is complaining that the reports were exaggerated and putting things up on their facebooks like "That was a hurricane?  It barely drizzled!"  Remember that Hatteras is a tiny sliver of land.  One with over 4,000 human beings on it.  While you may be complaining that the storm was "nothing" there are thousands of people without clean water or electricity for days, some of whom may have lost their homes or worse.  Perspective.

But I digress...

Living on Hatteras was a mixed bag.  My school (and when I say school, I mean kindergarten through 12th grade public school...just the one) was tiny.  I think by the time I graduated, there was a little over 500 students K-12.  My graduating class was 43.  One the one hand, it was great knowing everyone and growing up with familiar faces through my entire primary and secondary educational career.  On the other hand...I knew everyone and grew up with the same people my entire primary and secondary educational career.  Everybody knew everybody's business.  And what people didn't know, they made up.  I kidd you not, my parents could be stuck in a traffic jam on HWY 12 because of an accident and by the time they got home, I had already heard who was in the accident, what their injuries were, and where they were transported (off the island because the nearest hospital was an hour away). 

I have analyzed a lot over the years why I have an underlying resentment towards where I grew up, because I had a great childhood.  A very nuclear family and plenty of friends.  I wasn't the most popular kid in school nor was I an outcast.  I simply coasted through being the "nice guy" who was friends with at least one person in every clique.  I was a straight A student whom was very involved, in many clubs, poster-child for music and band...I really think my problem with Hatteras has very little to do with the small-town gripes that everybody who grew up in a small town has nor the people so much as I was NEVER myself while I lived there.  I really didn't become myself until college.  And once I went to college, I never looked back...barely coming home for holidays (my Alma Mater was a good 8 hour drive from home).  Even when I visit today, although none of my immediate family lives there anymore, I just feel anxious and like I'm acting like a person that I'm not.  I'm sure I can analyze this forever and throw in some identity development theories to boot and some internalized homophobia, but when I go back home, I feel like that introverted, homebody, closeted kid who can't wait to get away again.  At the same time, I have so many fond memories of that place and I love the nostalgia of being back there...oi.  Like I said...a love-hate relationship.

Overall, I think the positives FAR outway the negatives and I just need to get out of my own head and leave that sad, scared, self-conscious little boy in the past.  That's what I plan to do when I go down to visit some of my best friends in the world this summer. 

With that, I'll leave you with some pictures of my three oldest and bestest friends...all from Hatteras:

Cassie (since 1988), Me, Keturi (since 1992), and Emilie (Since 1997)

Don't be jealous of our awesomeness

Keturi's trip to DC!

Prom 2000

Prom 2001



I honestly don't know...but that's the brides garter on my head that I caught.

BYEEEE!