It’s Easter Sunday. I’m not the most religious guy in the world by far but I respect the holiday’s meaning. The best part about Easter growing up is that it was the first warm weather holiday. In New Orleans that means it’s time to sit outside with your family and have a good time. I remember getting up early to get dress and wait for my grandpa to come and pick me up to go get ice from the old ice house in the French Quarter. I was always fascinated that whenever I went somewhere with him everyone knew him by name. I didn’t know why we had to get up so early just for ice. I’m thinking it had to be because they might run out if we went to late. We didn’t need it that early because everyone had to go to church first before any festivities started.
Everybody would get Easter clothes for church and then a short set to change into afterwards. On Saturday night before we would dye eggs and my mama would make the greatest Easter baskets. I got an Easter basket every year of my life until that barge destroyed the levee (allegedly by me) and flooded the Lower Ninth Ward. I know we are not supposed to be thinking about these things anymore. We have to try and maintain tradition as much as we can so we need to dye eggs and take the kids to church. Every now and then there should be a story about the good old days in the neighborhood on Easter Sunday.