Give Me Cornbread


My kids and I were listening to the Zydeco masterpiece Give Him Cornbread by Beau Jocque on the way to school.  It’s a song about, you guessed, cornbread.  At some point, he shouts “Couche-couche!” which is cornbread left over from the night before sort of mushed into milk and eaten for breakfast.  I have distinct fourth-grade cafeteria memories of the boys making a huge mess on their trays pouring milk over their cornbread and mashing it up.


AG pops up from the back and responds “I love couscous!”


My thoughts:


A#1- At eight years old, hell, at eighteen years old, I had no idea what couscous was.


B#2- And I’m proud that she loves food in the way I do.


C#3- But I surely knew about couche-couche.


D#4- And it makes me very sad that the kids are disconnected from my Cajun heritage, my people.


Does every parent who leaves their childhood home feel this struggle?  I love Acadiana.  I love the people, the food, the music.  I get goosebumps when I hear Edwin Edwards talk.


My kids have already had a broader life than I did growing up there.  They’re exposed to so many different cultures, ways of life, ethnic foods, and therefore, more of the real world.


Some might say I over-romanticize. But I miss home.  And I don’t get back often enough.  So this weekend, if only for twenty-four hours, we will push off some of our commitments and head west on I-10.


And learn about couche-couche.


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