This is for clarification. Yes, I am a Cajun. However, I do
not address everyone as “Cher bébé.” Do I like my spicy food? Of course. Do I smother
my morning eggs and cup of coffee in avalanches of cayenne pepper? That,
however is a firm no. In fact, my list of firm no’s is probably as long as my
right arm. Here are a few from the top ten. Keep in mind that some of these
answers are in response to questions that people have indeed asked me. No, I do not live in the bayou. No, I do not
own a pet nutria and or alligator. No, I do not show up to school in an
airboat. No, my last name is not Boudreaux or something really really French.
No, I do not eat alligator head sandwiches for lunch, and no, I do not enjoy a
Fais Do Do every night after I finish my homework. My dad doesn’t have a
mullet, and my mom is not an alligator wrestling, shotgun-wielding, hunting
zealot. I know it’s a lot to handle, but keep in mind that this city is not at
all what it may seem. I assure you that the closest I get to Cajun is the
occasional whoop and holler from a zydeco band at “Rock N Bowl” or a Swamp Pop
band’s Cajun rendition of the “Cupid Shuffle” at a local fair. Sure, I can say
that I’m proud of my heritage, but no, I cannot say that I live a life in any
way similar to that of which they might have lived. Times have changed, despite
the reluctance to believe so. If you come to New Orleans, you will stumble across
a smorgasbord of accents, foods, and traditions far outside of the Cajun realm,
but don’t trust the Cajun accent of the Haunted Cemetery vampire tour guide. It’s probably a lisp from his plastic fangs.
In the brilliant and well articulated words of my ancestors,
Aiiiyyeee!
Megann, age 17
