On May 20th of this year, a huge F5 tornado tore through Moore, Oklahoma, completely flattening a two-mile stretch of the city. It caused billions of dollars of damage, killed about two dozen people, and most notably, completely leveled two schools, which were an unfortunate source of many of the fatalities. As an Okie, I hurt with the people of Moore. The raw images on the news brought tears to my eyes, and I wished ardently that there was more that I could do to help the people who had lost everything - donations of food and money didn't seem to be enough.
As my family and I drove through the ghostly ruins of what once were thriving neighborhoods, I was overtaken by emotion. It wasn't my first experience with ruins after a large tornado - I had also passed through Joplin a month and a half after the large tornado that struck there in 2011 - but the impact was still very significant. Though the physical proof lay in piles before my eyes, it was still unfathomable that such destruction could be wrought in a manner of minutes; that people could lose all the things that they had ever worked for to a meteorological force that was usually completely harmless - merely wind. It was unbelievable.
One of the worst things was seeing momentos of shattered childhoods in the piles of rubble - I saw a large plastic race car bed, a pink wrought-iron bed frame, and dozens of colorful toys amongst the piles of splintered wood, shattered glass, and gnarled metal.
Eventually, we came upon the site of what was once the Plaza Towers Elementary School. The building had been completely demolished - what remained was a slab that once housed the structure, and a chain link fence that surrounded the property. The fence was visible from many feet away, because it was adorned with hundreds of momentos - mostly t-shirts. As we approached the fence, we saw that all the knick-knacks attached to the fence proclaimed handwritten messages of faith, hope, and love from all over the country. I noted messages from Florida, Texas, and of course, all over Oklahoma. The top of the fence was adorned with dozens of American flags that waved proudly in the wind.
In addition, a lone, tattered flag differed from the rest - it was the bright blue flag of the state of Oklahoma, its edges torn by wind, its color slightly faded from the sun, but it still flew proudly, billowing in the wind.
In my mind, the flag was a perfect symbol of the unwavering Okie spirit.
After living in Oklahoma for about four years, it's about time I consider myself an Okie. That being said, I can proudly say that the steadfast Okie spirit cannot be dampened. We get blown around by tornadoes, tattered by hail storms, buried by the odd snow storm, and broiled by the hot summer sun, but we never give up. If we get blown over, we dust ourselves off and stand right back up again - with the help of our neighbors, of course.
Oklahoma is not the only state I've ever lived in, but I can truthfully say that it is one of the most determined, loving states that I have ever experienced. The love that Okies have for one another is remarkable, and it is a bond that cannot be broken. Days after the Moore tornado, volunteers flooded the area, ready to grab a pair of gloves and work. Donations flooded in to local churches, food banks, and missions. Eventually, people actually had to be turned away because there were too many donations and too many volunteers on deck. That is the steadfast Okie spirit, y'all. It cannot be fractured, it cannot be cracked, it cannot be broken. The people here love their state and they love one another.
There's a reason it's called Okla-HOM-a - it's home, y'all.
xx
ola
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