Growing up Seasoned and Sautéed
Being a child of the seventies and growing up in Cajun
country, I was seasoned and marinated with the perfect ingredients for a well-rounded
and virtuous social worker. So, any bland or mediocre job performances
throughout the years falls solely on my shoulders. If there is anything that my
generation and culture gifted me, it was the ability to draw on the
strength of every person that I encounter, and not dwell on their shortcomings.
I learned at an early age that there was
far more to the quality of living than just material things. This guided my belief
that child welfare families are often much
stronger than they appear, and their stories if listened to, can give us the
capacity to see their strength, understand their struggles, and hopefully rally
them to recondition both, their minds and hearts. In other words, help them find
their Joie de vivre, joy of life
again.
I grew up in a time where most kids had the luxury of getting new clothes only once a year. So, judging people by appearance had no relevancy, since most people I knew had a very limited and modest wardrobe. Even if I chose to do so, this made it literally impossible to distinguish between my impoverished and wealthy counterparts. Instead, our culture was aligned more with faith and values, than it was with Nike or Louis Vuitton. That is not to say that I cannot still spot a vintage pair of Toughskin jeans, brown leather Dingo boots, or a thick corduroy jacket from a mile away. My heritage taught me to focus my attention on a person’s interior because that’s where their value lied along with their identity and self- worth.
Growing up in the seventies made it easy for me to show up unannounced at a home. In my day it was the only way to see if my friends were home and wanted to hang out. That was decades before cellphones, FaceTime, gaming systems, and even pagers; not that my parents would have bought me or allowed me to have those things anyway. I learned to knock on doors, ask politely for someone, and say thank you and yes ma’am long before I had any inkling that I would be doing it for a living. And I learned to make them habits, not to train for a future vocation, but because of the wrath I feared if my parents discovered that I was not consistent in doing them.
It just goes to show that many of our personal attributes are seasoned by the times and places that cultivated us along the way. I was grateful to have been born in a generation flavored with both tradition and humility and, as lagniappe, in a culture where everyone you meet is treated like part of the family; a place where there is always an extra spot at the supper table, and we are always more than happy to help you find your Joie de vivre.
8 Attributes of Growing Up in the Seventies in South Louisiana:
We learned
to figure out shit for ourselves. There was no Google and YouTube. If we couldn’t grasp it on our own, we hopped
on our bikes and headed to the public library. Nothing says determination like
looking through a three-foot wooden card catalog or mastering the Dewey decimal
system.
We learned to explore. We would set off in the morning with our friends
for an adventure through the drainage tunnels in our neighborhoods. It was usually
a search expedition for glass coke bottles, which we could redeem to buy little
brown bags of penny candy at the mom and pop neighborhood store.
We learned to make personal connections that would last a lifetime.
We knew the milkman, Avon lady, Swann truck
driver, mailman, and the life insurance salesman by name, and we knew exactly
which day of the week to expect them. It was like kinfolk coming in from out of
town. The kids always ran up to the vehicle, and your momma always had a fresh
pot of coffee waiting on the stove.
C'était le bon vieux temps, Mes amies
Hits close to home!! Well written 🌸
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