Throw me Something, Mister!

By the time the Krewe of Nemesis rolls, my three nephews have already had their share of meltdowns. You can't expect children to wait three hours for Mardi Gras. There will be consequences.

But, finally, the floats start to roll, and each of the three boys has his own strategy. Derek is the youngest, and his strategy is to stand with his hands in his pockets and wait for someone to hit him in the face with a bead. He seems embarrassed to do what every other fool is doing to catch a two cent trinket. Eldest Daniel tries logic and occasionally a "Throw me something Mister!" But Nick, the middle guy, Nick is the pro, and each year he generally gets the most and the best throws. He will try anything. He will even pole dance on a street sign. Methinks he watches too much Miley Cyrus.


I am suddenly energized. Patrick is running up and down the route taking pictures. The boys run fast behind him. The further they go, the more free they feel. Their sister is the Oyster Queen, and, as she rides by in a white convertible Mustang, they skip next to her begging her for the best stuff, and she lavishes trinkets and beads and silly string on them.


This is the children's Mardi Gras. This is before it becomes about purging yourself of all lustful sin by committing them all in a one week period. This is the Mardi Gras all of us Louisiana children remember.


Exhausted from the half hour walk home and the adrenaline rush of purple, green and gold, the boys bust into the house and empty their treasures into three distinct piles on the living room floor. They show each piece to their Mimi and explain how they caught it and from whom and any other pertinent information. Then, the trading begins.