August 24, 1992

 I tell the tale every year, which all religions do about epic events, lest the believers forget. And 32 years ago this am, I was emerging from our destroyed house ("mistroyed as 3 year old D1 later called it) because of a certain Cat 5 tropical cyclone commonly known as Hurricane Andrew.

As the ceilings all throughout the house filled with water and collapsed, and a glass atrium separating our living and master bedrooms imploded and shattered, I led the family to my car, a 1992 Mitsubishi Diamante, parked in the garage. The garage was on the NW corner of the house, furthest from the incoming winds, and sure enough, the garage ceiling held. I figured if it didn't, at least we'd have the metal car roof to hopefully protect us.

Wifey was in the passenger seat, and my 72 year old Mom, known to us by then as Grandma Sunny, was in the back. D1 was there, and Wifey nursed 6 month old D2 to keep her calm. We had left Midnight, the 95 lb Lab, and his sidekick Alfred, the 20 something lb Spaniel, outside the car, and both said "Ah HELL NO!" and comically jumped inside with us. I recall both making the high jump, but probably just Midnight did, and then we scooped up Alfred, too...

We watched Bryan Norcross on the tiny battery powered TV, and indeed he was the voice that got us through -- explaining what was coming to each part of South Dade, and when it would finally subside. Years later, I ran into him at a Canes game in Tally (he's an FSU alum, which back in the day seemed to be the most gay friendly of Florida colleges), and shook his hand and thanked him. I was one of many thousands who did the same.

Anyway, at sunrise I emerged to find a street that was truly  Hiroshima-like, and after setting up Wifey, Sunny, and the girls in the least flooded part of the house, got on my bike to ride the 1.5 miles or so up SW 107th Avenue, to check on my suegros. I dodged sparking electric lines, and trees down everywhere, and found them huddled in a closet. Their well built 1950s era house had minimal damage -- one broken window and missing asphalt roof shingles, and they were fine. I told them I would be returning soon, to pack a bag, as we would be decamping to my Mom's in Delray for the night.

I somehow drove the Mitsubishi back, and we caravanned up to Delray -- amazingly the State had cleared the Turnpike pretty quickly of all the debris, and once we were in North Dade, it was smooth sailing.

We spent a night or two there, and Wifey's friend Linda, in still one of the best acts of kindness to us ever, called -- she had run down to the rental office of her Brickell Key apartment and secured us a unit -- 2 or 3 were available. We moved there in a few days, and stayed until the end of 1992 -- it's where D2 took her first steps which immediately turned into running, and the hundreds of near death experiences each day.

My in laws went back to their electric free house and did quite well for a month or so -- they had survived Nazi concentration and labor camps -- a decent house without AC was a can o corn for them.

A long slog followed -- I was working more than full time at my the firm I was at before Paul and I started this firm 2 years after, and Wifey would drop D1 at preschool and schlep D2 to all the appointments associated with rebuilding our house -- we didn't move back until Spring of 1994.

But looking back, 1992 was an amazing year. Sure -- we lost the house and most of our possessions -- but thanks to the liberal property insurance claims processing of those days, that turned out to be "St Andrew," as our fellow well insured victims called the storm's aftermath.

Earlier in the year, of course, D2 joined the band, and we sort of dig her even 32 years later. She was the tougher toddler, and angsty teenager, at least to Wifey, but also the family's only Phi Beta Kappa, married to a man who has become our son, and amazing dog mom -- hopefully to become human Mom someday, too.

Professionally, I made my first big money, on a tragic lighter case I brought in.

So on balance, 1992 was no annus horribilis, as the Brits using Latin call it. The storm was horrible, but the rest of the year -- not horribilis at all.

Hopefully Andrew was the last Cat 5 we see. And if not, well, as Gloria Gaynor sang, we will survive.