by R.J. Shie

Created on: November 17, 2008   Last Updated: January 08, 2009

How Was New Orleans Built?

Many say it was dreams and hopes. Some say it was adventure. I am sure that they are right. I have never been to New Orleans, but it is a city of hope to me. It holds promise of emotional salvation, and of personal growth. I picture it as a city of prospect, one that glistens in the sun. This place of recovery is a home for knights in silver shining armor on white horses. It is also a place where musicians and artists can showcase their talents and people of all walks of life are joined in union of food, art, music and expression.

You may wonder why I see New Orleans this way. Since I have never been there, how could I have such deep feelings for it? Well, my story is a bit sad, but still worth the telling. It took 25 years to unfold, and carried me on many journeys too numerous and complicated to tell in one essay, so I will only tell one part. This is the part about my father and how I got to know him.

My parents divorced when I was 2. My father went his way and was not heard from again in my childhood. It was a troublesome time. My teens were a mess. You are wondering if I blame that on my father's absence. I don't know at this point, it could be in part. It really doesn't matter, what matters is how it all turned out.

One day when I was 20ish, my sister called me and said "I found Dad. He is living in New Orleans. He is in the V.A. Hospital there. Here is the number. I spoke to him and he is anxious to hear form you." Wow. I didn't know how to react. So it was with a trembling hand that I dialed the phone.

Two hours later we were crying and laughing. Another hour after that and he was saying: "When I get out of the hospital, I want you to come to see me. I will show you the greatest city on earth."

"I can't come just now Dad, work is hectic. I think that I am up for a promotion and I don't want to jeopardize that. I'll come later in the year or early next year. Maybe I'll come for Mardi gras. I have always wanted to see it." He said that he would love to show it to me.

So ended that conversation, a few months later he left the hospital. We spoke a number of times over the next year. They were heartfelt, quality talks, real father-daughter stuff. He always asked me to come to see him and his great city. I put him off because I was dating and working and just busy being young. He ended up back in the hospital in December of '85. Just before Christmas, the doctor said that he could come home for a few days.

I called Dad at home and talked

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