On the first day of first grade, my mother could speak exactly one sentence in English: “My name is Vivian.”
My mother’s family was Louisiana French and her household communicated via the patois called Cajun French. In schools in the 1930s, however, it was believed that speaking English was necessary to get ahead. Speaking your ancestral language would hold you back in modern society. At my mother’s school, children who spoke Cajun French got their knuckles rapped with a ruler by the teacher. Louisiana French children learned to answer their teachers in English or not speak at all. The language wars are nothing new.
My mother learned English with fluency. The lesson from school that one must speak English to get ahead was taken to heart in our home and by most children of my generation. As I grew up, our family customs were rooted in the French tradition but we spoke English. I was not taught to speak Cajun French as a child, and I could never pick it up with any fluency as an adult. I know the Acadians’ stories, their history, their famous figures, their traditions, but I can’t fully share their unique language. This is one of the great regrets of my life.
In 1968, the Louisiana state legislature created the Council for the Development of French in Louisiana. CODOFIL is empowered to “do any and all things necessary to accomplish the development, utilization, and preservation of the French language as found in Louisiana for the cultural, economic and touristic benefit of the state.”
What follows is my small contribution to the any and all things necessary to promote the peculiar language of my ancestors.*
About Cajun French
Cajun French, or Louisiana Regional French, is a patois of standard French (or Parisian French as it is called locally) with influences from Spanish, Native American, African, and other Creole languages.
An important thing to understand about how this bilingual community and culture utilizes two languages is to understand the demographics of the language today. Only elderly people speak solely in Cajun French. Most people speak English. There is much crossover, but English is the predominant language now. Just about everyone who speaks English sprinkles Cajun French or Parisian French expressions in their day to day speech.
Example: At a picnic, a character, Emelia, might flounce onto a lawn chair and say, “That gros bête, Louis, he spit a watermelon seed at me!”
There is no way to provide anything like a complete list, but these words/phrases are common—or were in my house. I have tried to break the lexicon below into broad categories, in no particular order:
People
Parents are Mama and Papa, or Maman or Papere, or Mere or Pere. Many Southern women call their fathers Daddy throughout their lives. I call my father Daddy.
Grandparents are Grandmere and Grandpere, or Maw-Maw and Paw-Paw, or any garbled word a baby learning to speak assigns to a grandparent. My grandmother was Grom, a version of Grandmere, and because she was the baby of the family (see le petit below) her nickname was Tit.
Aunts are Tante. Many names are shortened. I had an aunt named Euphrasie. (Trivia: In Les Miserables, the character Cosette’s real name was Euphrasie.) We called my Aunt Euphraise Tante Fraz. I had another aunt named Augustine. We called her Tante Tine.
Uncles are oncle, often mon oncle (my uncle) which is shorted to Nonc. I have an uncle named William, who was nicknamed “Yom” from the local pronunciation: will-yom. We grew up calling him Nonc Yom, which means “my uncle William.”
Many given names (first names) were French but English names became popular during the 20th century. There are limits, however. My grandmother wanted to name one of her sons Calvin, but the priest disapproved (see Calvinism) so he recorded “Clarence” on the birth certificate. He was called Calvin by the family anyway.
Many given names (first names) are inspired by places. My grandfather’s first name was Paris. I have aunts named Venice, Florence, Augustine. I also have a cousin named Hans, but his mother had married a sailor.
Women were sometimes called by their husband’s name. My grandmother was called “Mrs. John” by many people in town because my grandfather’s name was John. He was a businessman. People who worked for him called her “Mrs. John.”
Godparents are Nenaine and Parrain. A godmother is also called “Nanny” but that’s a nickname and no connection to Mary Poppins.
“T” before a name has two meaningss. A “T” preface means little, a short version of the French word for small—petit/petite. La petite might mean the youngest in a family or the smallest—the baby or the runt. It is also a form of “junior” for men. If Jacque has a son named Jacque, the son is called “T-Jacque.” On the bayou, a T-Rex would not be a dinosaur. T-Rex would be a boy named Rex who was named after his father named Rex.
Cousin is a cousin. It is pronounced cou-za. The “n” is a whisper, hardly heard at all.
Belle is a typical name for women, but it also means a beautiful in an old-fashioned, traditional sense of beauty. Adele est belle.
The loup garou is a werewolf, not a person. There is also the mythical Tu Nu Man. “tu” means you; “nu” means naked. In other words, the Tu Nu Man is a streaker.
Pere Noel is Father Christmas.
Le Bon Dieu is the Good Lord.
Y’all is a Southernism, not a Cajun or Creole word, but it’s a contraction of you all, and is spelled y’all. ALWAYS.
Place Names
Many towns are name after bayous, or have bayou in the name. This can be confusing. There is a town called Bayou Blue, but it is not a bayou. There is a bayou called Bayou Black, but it is not a town. Don’t ask me to explain this. No one can explain this.
Many towns end in –ville, the French word for town: Labadieville, Donaldsonville, Paincourtville, Napoleonville. If you are making up a town, ending it in –ville is a safe bet.
Many towns and parishes (not counties, see part one) retain French names. The capital city is Baton Rouge, which means “red stick.” My home parish is Lafourche, which means “the fork.”
Many towns have meaningful names. My childhood town was called Golden Meadow after the fields of yellow goldenrods. The French word for goldenrods is pisolis (piss-o-lee). Local legend held that touching a pisolis meant you would wet the bed that night. Hence why little boys in my town would grab handfuls of pisolis and chase little girls with them, as a torment.
Greetings
Apart from the standard bonjour, bonsoir, etc. here are some local greetings and expressions:
Comment ca va? is a standard greeting. It means how are things, or how’s it going?
Comme ci, comme ca means “like this, like that” but in response to Comment ca va? it means so-so. Things are okay.
De Rien means “it’s nothing” which is the equivalent of no problem or no big deal. If you do a favor for someone and they thank you, de rien is a common response.
C’est la vie means that’s life, it is what it is, that’s how things are.
Quoi ca die? means what’s going on, what’s happening?
Bienvenue means welcome!
Qui ci parlez? means who is talking, who’s speaking? A person might say this on the telephone, if the caller doesn’t identify himself clearly.
C’est tout means that’s all, but it can also mean, I’m done, I’m finished with this.
Mais means but, a protestation or use as emphasis. Mais non means but no, mais oui means but yes.
On the bayou, you would also hear mais ya (may ya) as the equivalent of mais oui.
You’d tell someone in English to pass a good time if they are going out.
Laissez les bon temp rouler means let the good times roll, or telling someone to have a good time.
Bonne Annee means happy new year, but some people say “Bonne Annee” at any and all holidays, just for fun.
Terms of endearment
Cher is Louisiana French for dear or darling. It’s not pronounced like Cher, formerly Bono. It is pronounced sha, as in shack.
Cherie is Parisian French for dear or darling. It is pronounced share-e.
Mon Vielle means my old lady, but not in the hippy way. It’s to show fondness for an older lady relative.
Mon vieux means “old man” but its usage is much like the English club man would say “old boy.”
Mon ami is my friend. Mes amis is my friends. Les amis is the friends.
Bébé means baby in French, but the Cajun version is pronounced “beb” and is used like “babe.”
Defunt means dead. After someone dies, he goes from Jean to Defunt Jean (dead John or defunct John). It’s meant respectfully even if it sounds morbid. I have always heard my grandfather referred to as Defunt Paris.
Pauvre bête translate to poor stupid, but it is an expression of pity, the equivalent of “poor thing.”
Cochon is French for pig. It also means glutton, but not necessarily as an insult. A chubby baby might be called un petit cochon.
Terms of derision
Tête dur means hard headed, stubborn.
Tête de cabri means head of a goat. That’s for someone who is really stubborn.
Couillion (cou-yon) means a stupid or dumb person, but without malice. A fool. A gros couillion is a big fool.
Bon de rien means good for nothing. A bum, a slacker.
Fou is crazy.
C’est fou means that’s crazy, or he’s crazy.
Salop is a messy woman/bad housewife. To call a Cajun woman a salop is a serious insult.
Macaque is a monkey—a showoff person.
Un maquereau is a promiscuous man—a lady’s man.
Fonchock is a stupid fool, plus a showoff–a dumbass. It is a crude word, however; only someone impolite or very exasperated would call a person a fonchock.
Bête means stupid or silly. C’est bête means that’s stupid.
Gros bête means big stupid. Big fool, or someone who is repeatedly fooled.
Boo doo is a bully.
Coonass is an insult for Cajuns, the equivalent of redneck. Don’t use this word. It’s not nice.
Contraieuse means a contrary person. You say black, he says blue. You say yes, he says no. Someone who argues for the sake of arguing.
Curses and other exclamations
Mon Dieu! My god!
Merde! Shit!
Maudit! Damn!
Malhereux! Means unhappy, but is like a frustrated oh no or dadgummit!
Pour l’amour de Dieu! For the love of God!
Sacre bleu! Damn blue! (No clue why blue gets damned, but it does.)
Hoo Lawd! Oh Lord!
Bon! Good!
Bon Dieu! Good Lord!
Tres bien! Very good!
Cho! Wow!
Chepasse! Go away! (to a dog or other animal)
Random terms and phrases
Geaux is go. Usually used before the word “Tigers” or “Saints.”
Who dat? Is short for the sports chant “Who dat? Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?”
Yats are white people living in New Orleans. The term comes from “Where y’at?”
Menew is the sound a Cajun cat makes. It does not meow, it menews.
Arête means stop. A police officer would tell a bad guy, “Arête, or I’ll Tase you, bro!”
Arête ca means stop that! An irritated mother would say this to her bickering children.
Gros vent is a big wind, a hurricane.
Ask is pronounced axe. “Axe me again, cher.”
Bahbin is a pouty expression. Boudee means to pout. When you boudee, your face has a bahbin.
Beaucoup means many or a lot. This post has beaucoup words.
Bebette is a monster or a bug.
Bon homme means good man, but it’s the word for a doll, a plaything. G.I. Joe is a bon homme.
Chuchut means thing or thingy. When you need a Phillips head screwdriver but you can’t think of the name of it, you say, “Give me that chuchut to screw in this maudit screw.”
Frissons are goosebumps. It’s a common French word in English sentences. “That horror movie gave me the frissons.”
Envie is a craving, from the English “envy.” Example: I have an envie for crème brulee.
Me, her, him – English words that are inserted into a sentence for emphasis. Example: “I have me an envie for crème brulee.” “Paulette, her, one day that smart mouth will get her in trouble.”
Haunte means embarrassed. “When that cop pulled me over on the I-10, I was so haunte.”
Lagniappe means extra.
Soupcon means a little bit, same as un peu. “Jean-Claude felt a soupçon of dread.”
Pain perdu translates to “lost bread” but it’s really French toast.
Grillades are strips of spiced meat fried and served with grits for breakfast. Grits et grillades.
Pralines are sweet confectionaries. Most people think of pralines as brown with a pecan on top, but my grandmother used to make coconut pralines, boiling the sugar, coconut, and vanilla in a large cast iron pot, and then scooping out spoonfuls to cool on brown paper bags that were cut up and spread across the kitchen counters. A warm coconut praline is paradis. (paradise, heaven)
Fais du mal means make bad. Do a bad deed.
Roder means travel, or run the roads. When you have many errands to run, you roder all day.
Salt meat = salt pork, an important ingredient for gumbo, white beans, red beans, etc.
Tooloolou is a fiddler crab.
A peeshwank is a small person, a runt.
A pi-yi is a bottom, a behind.
Aye-ya-yi means ouch. “She fell on her pi-yi and said ‘aye-ya-yi’!”
Joie de vivre means joy of life. When a Cajun describes a lively woman, it would be “Mais, she’s got some joie, her” which means she is joyful.
This is the end of our Louisiana lexicon! As mentioned above, it is nowhere near a complete list, but sprinkle some of these phrases into your work for a soupçon of authenticity.
*PLEASE NOTE: This information was researched, compiled, and published on the website www.ramonadef.com, and is the intellectual property of Ramona DeFelice Long. If this post is referenced for educational purposes, or printed for distribution for educational purposes, please credit and cite as follows: © 2016 Ramona DeFelice Long
Ramona DeFelice Long 
Thank you SO much for this delightful and helpful post, Ramona. As a linguist and a French speaker, I particularly love it. I have so many questions about pronunciation.
How do you pronounce Tante? One syllable or two? Is the vowel as in romp? And where you have written ca, is that “sa” as in Parisian French (written with the cedilla)? How do you say lagniappe? “lawn-YAP” or?
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Edith, Tante is one syllable. “Tahnt” Yes, about the cedilla. I couldn’t create one here, but it’s pronounced “sa” as you note. “LAN-yap” or “LAHN-yop” – there is not a single pronunciation. Why make it simple, eh?!
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Thanks, Ramona, for generously sharing this information. Living in Mobile, I get a bit of these…one local newspaper is named Lagniappe…but your random phrases were really enlightening. By the by, I use “you-all guys” in closing my posts on my blog, but that’s deliberate. Seriously. It’s a nod at something my granddaughter, who was born in Mobile, said when she was about six. I do know the correct spelling, but I guess I’d better do a disclaimer there. Thanks for mentioning it. %>)
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Marilyn, I use “you all” or “you guys” to indicate a non-native Southerner, but that’s my quirk. I think “you-all guys” is cute!
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PS Ramona: My Swedish mother and her brothers, who were born in Texas to immigrant parents from Sweden, didn’t learn English until they went to school…and that was in 1912.
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Marilyn, did your mother and her siblings teach their children to speak their native tongue? Inquiring minds want to know.
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No such luck. In my case, my father came from Sweden shortly before he married so Mama spoke English to him to teach him the language. They spoke Swedish when they didn’t want us to understand. I have an 89-year-old Swedish friend of my mother that calls me long distance, and I do so regret that she has to struggle through English because I can’t understand Swedish.
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I would have thought that in tu nu man, the tu would not have been you but rather tout. Tout nu is a French (in France) phrase meaning completely, totally naked, or without a stitch on. Is tu nu pronounced like the French do with the distinctive u or more like too nou?
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It’s a colloquialism, Susan, so who knows. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this in writing. Tu is the intimate for you, so “you are naked man” is as close as I can make it. Pronunciation–depends on who says it. I say it closer to “due” that “too” or “do” but that’s me.
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Here you go. This YouTube is a song: Tout le monde tout nu. Other references via google.
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Susan, since they’re singing, “sans chemises”, sounds like you’re on the right track!
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More questions: I have a New Orleans character who wants to say that the people he met in Massachusetts were standoffish. Got a word for that?
How about a phrase for, “That’s fine, then.” – “Mais, that’s bon” or?
In Quebec country speakers often tack on a syllable of emphasis, like, “C’est bon, lo.” Does Cajun have anything like that?
Thanks!
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That’s fine would be “c’est bon!” meaning that’s good. Or “tres bien!” meaning very good.
I don’t think there’s a syllable of emphasis equivalent to “lo” as you use it here. Sometimes, “oui” or “non” will be added to the end of a sentences, as an affirmation. “Suzette est tres belle, non?” meaning, Suzette is very pretty, isn’t she.
I am somewhat stumped by standoffish. The closest I can offer is unfriendly. That would be pas vaillant – not friendly. But the nuance may be off there. Unfriendly and standoffish are not perfect as synonyms.
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Thanks. I can work with that.
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How about “It hurts” – would “Fais mal” work?
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“fais” is a form of “faire” which means make. “Fais mal” would more likely mean to cause a hurt. I don’t know a particular Cajun phrase for “it hurts” so you could go with a standard French phrase. A wound or sore is called a “bo bo” (phonetically).
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My grandparents migrated to America from Norway and learned to speak English when their children went to school. How sad that I know more French than I do my ancestral language. As a result of your recent “crash course” which I have immensely enjoyed, we may see an increase of French influence in our stories. C’est la vie!
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Georgia, if these posts make people think about their ancestral languages, that would please me very much. I am not an expert in Cajun French, so I am sharing it as I know and understand it. Merci!
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“Many towns end in –ville,”… Is that pronounced ‘vee’ or ‘vill’ or something else?
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I have only heard it pronounced as “vill” Holly.
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Ramona, this is fantastic. I’ve hesitated to put too much French in my Cajun Country series because I thought it might throw people, but I think I’ll sprinkle more in. I have this AMAZING Cajun-English dictionary that I bought 30 years ago. It was compiled by a priest who didn’t want to see the language die out. And I’m happy to report that it hasn’t. When we were having lunch at B&C Seafood over the holidays (in Vacherie), there was a table filled with people speaking Cajun French as their first language. And they were only in their 40s, maybe early 50s. I love that part of the world so much. I identify with the self-contained culture because my mother was an Italian immigrant and as a kid, I could go an entire weekend without hearing English. Only Italian.
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Ellen, what is the name of that dictionary? I have a newish one, and of course Gumbo Ya-Ya, which i consider the Bible for the culture. There has been a concerted effort to teach children Cajun French through school immersion programs, but the last governor was not a support of Cajuns or their culture. With the current fiscal crisis, who knows? But I am happy to know you had that experience! It is heartening to me.
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Merci, Ramona!
My mother’s father’s family were Amiot, and from Quebec, and you’ve just opened a small window of understanding about many otherwise mystifying things from my childhood.
The Catholic priest who changed Calvin to Clarence reminded me of how the archbishop who confirmed me, when reading out my chosen confirmation name of “Rose Marie”, changed it to Rosemary. Naturally, I’ve spent the last 55 years denying that every happened.
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Karen, that priests could nix a parents’ chosen name seems so foreign now, but it was not that long ago when local priests ruled their parishes much more stringently than now. My grandmother was not to be crossed, though. His name was Calvin! But, what is wrong with Rose Marie???
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It was two words, instead of one. It was hoggy of me to want two, I guess.
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So great, Ramona. I love this. Bon. Real bon.
It seems I commented again on yesterday’s post, so I won’t say too much here—just that for ç press option c . For â or any vowel you want, press option i then the vowel: option i plus o = ô etc.
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For some reason, Reine, when I do that and paste the post into the post box, it reverts back to plain letters. I can cut and paste, but it has to be every word, every time, which takes forever.
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PS; After pressing option i, let off the key and press the letter you want to make with the diacritic. Like: option i let go and press e gets ê.
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Sorry, spasticity messes up my typing sometimes. Tried to edit but seems to be no way to do.
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Thank you for posting this! Lots of fun to read. I enjoy living in Maine (for the past 18 years) and meeting Quebecois French speakers, Maine franco American French speakers, New Brunswick French speakers and more folks like me who just learned their Parisian French and do the best that they can!
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Helen, thank you for commenting! Daigle is a common name in south Louisiana, where it is pronounced “deg” by older folks and “DAYgull” by older people. In case you didn’t know!
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Cool! Helen is my former babysitter with children of her own now! Waving hi.
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My Mom’s grandfather came from the Montreal area, and Mom used various French words when I was small, including sacre bleu, which she said meant sacred blue. I understood it referred to the blue that Mary is always depicted as wearing, and thus was “bad” in the same way using other religious words “in vain” are.
Many of the words and phrases above are similar to what is heard in Manchester, NH, which developed its own dialect of Quebecois over the years.
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Your post mimics my own childhood being a native New Orleanian with a father from But as who went through the same as your mother. I regret not making an effort to get him to teach it to me.
Thank you for the post.
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While I know this entry was written quite a long time ago, I really must say THANK YOU for this. I come from a long lined family of Quebecois on three branches(my mother’s father was strongly Italian…the mob stories of our family that I learned when I was older were quite interesting, but that’s not exactly the point of my commenting…). Outside of my own surname/maiden name(I am married, but likely will not change for various reasons), I have traced my direct lines to the names:
Saint George- the maiden name of my Nana, great grandmother and name of her parents, my mere-mere and pep-pere, followed by Roi(changed to Roy when my greats aunts and uncles immigrated into the US…oddly NOT changed to King, which we know the name ACTUALLY is), which if I’m remembering correctly(upon a day where my memory is awful) is the married name of my great-great-great-grandmother Josephine(who was a schoolteacher who illegally immigrated here when my mere-mere had moved back at the turn of the century) upon my Nana’s side, who I actually own a purse of hers which my grandmother entrusted to me after my Nana passed away in 2010.
This family of mine was the closest and most open about the history of where I came from. I spent every night at my Nana’s, who pretty much raised me and my siblings, by niece and nephew, and my cousins, saying my prayers and telling my mere-mere and pep-pere good night.
My nana would share stories about how my pep-pere was an every-man, jack-of-all-trades and would take any job he could after they immigrated from Montreal(which I have actually learned through census where they lived in Montreal and it is still there!) to support my mere-mere, my nana and her sisters. There was the distinct story of how he fell off a 10ft ladder while painting a house in the 60s and had ruptured his spleen I believe and things weren’t looking good, until my mere-mere prayed over the Lourdes and Fatima scapulars(very much like the Louisiana French…the Catholic church is a major player in family life), and he made a miraculous turn around.
I know that my mere-mere could do anything from creating sewing patterns to lace-making, spoke and sang in French often, and tried to pass that along to her daughters(Auntie Florence and Auntie Diana, both of who, in addition to my Nana, I also knew very well up into adulthood). They all took family vacations together, cousins were practically siblings and I believe there was a period of time they all shared a home. All of this transferred down the generations even into my own childhood, until my papa passed in 1993.
My nana did her best to pass down as much as she could remember, as even she lost much of what she was taught growing up due to disuse of the language here in the states), but we still grew up singing French versions of children’s songs, learning various phrases…and much of which I can somewhat understand now IF I hear it.
Sadly, that is the limit of knowing all of that connection, and I am insanely upset that I didn’t push and try to learn more. I see MUCH of your family tradition in mine, and that makes me happier than you think.
With my own surname, I’ve discovered my Acadian roots, both of which have a more solid stance on my father’s side.
Now, my father’s maternal grandparents had the name Ouilette(Willett when they immigrated here). According to my grandmother herself, who I made sure to ask a little bit about our history, while my great grandmother was definitely from Quebec, my great grandfather was solidly in the Conway area of New Hampshire, Edelweiss village if I’m correct, but his family moved there when he was young and I don’t know where from- THIS is my mystery.
Her mother, however, who’s last name eludes me at the moment but I have written SOMEWHERE, has a little more information. My grandmother was one of 18 children(SO many twins and triplets!), who’s mother in turn was one of 21!!! She talked a lot about summers and trips to her mother’s birthplace, a mountain in Montreal…where, I have no idea, only that the home as well as family still owned it in the 80s. I have never been taken to visit, but my uncle- who my aunt(father’s sister) married in 1988 or 89- has told me stories of visiting the family and of my great grandmother’s sisters sitting on the porch in rockers, drinking brandy and whiskey and smoking cigars. lol!
Other than this, I know very little of both of these families histories, but as my husband has aid of his uncles to trace his own(his great-great grandfather is a doozie of a story), I’ve tried tracing names back. Most I have found that are connected, including the Saint George, Roi, Ouilette, AND Marceau… well…if they hadn’t decided to travel to the New World by that point, many of them didn’t have much choice: either run or lose your head come the French Revolution; most are names of past nobility. But I know that doesn’t mean much.
With trade routes between Canada and Louisiana, as well as settlements of each and the connection of both being “Acadian”, well… the ideas to look into such extends.
This became more and more of an interest of mine when I moved to Texas in high school when either people asked if I was from Louisiana or actually knew I likely wasn’t cajun based on the missing “x” at the end of my name, and even more so when I moved to Alabama and with my husband discovering the most interesting travels of his grandparent known, quite literally, in Mississippi as “Barbados Willie”…one can’t help but wonder.
So, I looked. Not only finding the connection to Louisiana with the tell tale “Marceaux”, which one would be a fool not to realize is a direct familial connection SOMEWHERE as my known family hasn’t been anywhere near Paris since the 1700s, the Marceaus themselves before that, I believe…and the Ouilettes MUST have been in order to have staked their claim upon an ENTIRE MOUNTAIN in Quebec.
I also learned of the possible connections to the various spellings and similarities, and the possible connection to the name Marcou, which was apparently somewhat well known in immigration into Louisiana anywhere from the late 1600s-1700s.
I am writing a few stories with a character who is cajun, specifically New Orleans area, where I have both been learning French to use within, as well as having my husband- who not only took far more classes in high school than I, as well as grown up in the Delta so has met up with a few that had moved when their parents were sharecroppers(which his mother and his grandparents were up until he, himself, was around 5)- correct me a bit here and there and yelling at me to quit making it so formal lol! I feel I am managing as well as I can, but last night went through an absolute doubting phase, and thus I found this! AND THANK YOU!
Not only did it help me feel better about writing the character and that I’m actually not that far off without help, but also makes me think that perhaps I’m on the right track in my genealogy quest to find out the things my family never asked those who would know but are no longer with us. Some of it may be an assumption, who knows, but you gotta start somewhere and no one is from nowhere. 🙂
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Mais, Chre. Merci, merci, merci. Not for the glossary — I know all those words and phrases — but for the opening comments about our generation. My Dad was a professional athlete and went to New York to ply his trade. Met my Mother and stayed. I was raised with almost no knowledge of my heritage and certainly none of our language.Oh, I’d been to duck camp a few times with my uncle and cousins but never really spent time in Louisiana until my work took me back in the early 80s. What I discovered — more family, a culture, a heritage and a language — gave me an identity I always somehow felt I lacked. I can not tell you how many times I met someone — a complete stranger — only to be asked after a short conversation about family (we ARE talking Cajuns here, LOL!) “OH! You Lee’s boy?”. I ended up living in Grand Coteau, only to discover my family founded it in the 1700s. C’est la vie!
I’m an old man now, and I left Louisiana long ago because of my career, but I continue to revel in and keep touch with my roots and my language. It is, in great measure who I am. And our language is at the root of it all.
Thank you.
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