Last week my job took me to a small community called LeBleu Settlement where I ran into a guy who grew up in the town where our family farm is. We got to talking and before you knew it an hour and a half had passed. I would pay for that long visit later that afternoon trying to catch up with my work, but it was an enjoyable conversation, and it brought back many memories, talking about the old times.
The gentleman commented that things were so simple back then. Since Benjamin moved back in with us as he convalesces, we've been watching old episodes of "The Wonder Years" together. Tonight after we turned off an episode, Benjamin made that same comment. "Things seemed so simple back then." Those words, to a nostalgic like me, are like amphetamines to an addict. I began to reminisce.
We talked about how all the old folks talked Cajun French when we were young. My grandfather would wear his Stetson straw cowboy hat and go sit on the porch with a neighbor at the farm named Mr. Roy. They would drink coffee and talk in French. Same thing with another guy down the road, Mr. Carrier. They appreciated the ability to speak it. See, as kids, when they went to public school, the teachers would punish them for speaking French. They wanted to get the Cajun out of them. It was low class, made you appear stupid and besides, everyone needed to become Americans.
Growing up, when we were sitting around the table and my grandma and grandpa's house and they wanted to talk about something private, they would start talking in French. We didn't have a clue as to what they were saying. We learned a few vocabulary words (and the cuss words), but mostly, the language is dying out. My grandma and grandpa spoke it fluently. My dad understands a bunch of it but doesn't speak it. I know some vocabulary and a few phrases. C'est tout.
When I managed the family grocery store, there was a man named Johnny Vidrine who worked there. On his lunch breaks, he would get a plate lunch from the deli and go sit behind the store under a big oak tree to eat his rice & gravy. He would bring a little transistor radio with him and would tune in to a station from Eunice, Louisiana that played French music. I would sit down and listen with him while he ate. I remember one song he liked called "Blacktop the Gravel Road" by Jackie Caillier. One day I was sitting with him and he started laughing in the middle of a song. I said, "What are you laughing at, Johnny?" He said, "The words to this song." "What is it talking about?" I inquired. He said, "Well, the words don't translate just right into English, but the words he's singing says, "Dancing with you is like pulling a sled through some tall grass!" I laughed until my stomach hurt.
I stumbled across this interesting video on the subject of the Cajun heritage and language. A lot of it centers around a gentleman who lives about 45 minutes from us. It explains his resolve to maintain his culture and teach it to his kids. Click below. I think its a 16 minute video.
"For me, it's about being like my grandmother, like my grandfather, living the culture." -Jourdan Thibodeaux
I like that ol' boy. He's swimming against the stream. Doing his own thing. He's comfortable in his skin. So how do you learn Cajun French if you don't have an old timer nearby to teach you? Well, there's an app for that! On your Apple phone in the App Store, search for the LearnCajun App. It's free. Here's a newscast from Lafayette that talks about it:
I've been using it a lot lately. Bon soir, mon amis!
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