Several days ago while walking in the neighborhood, I spotted this cross on the front doors of Our Lady of Good Counsel Catholic Church on Louisiana Avenue, another joyful surprise on the colorful streets on this festive city. I snapped some shots and left them in my iPhone. However, because of a subsequent death of my dear Uncle Pete a couple of days later on March 5^th (Mom’s birthday), I look at the photos and think of him.

My uncle was a relic of an era gone by. An era of farming. An era of rural America. An era of small-town religion and politics. An era of back-breaking work. An era of modesty. Even an era of sports. A devout “Bapti-costal,” Uncle Pete, also known as J.W., loved God, life and family. He also loved his team. In his final days on Superbowl Sunday, his five loyal children gathered in his hospital room to enjoy the big game with him. They cheered their favorite team together for three happy hours. As the game was winding down, Uncle Pete asked one of his kids, “How much time is left?” “Ten minutes, Paw Paw,” she answered, “Ten minutes.” With wet eyes and slight smile, he looked up and said, “OK, I think I’ll live that long.”

He knew his life on Earth was coming to an end and he made it. He had lived to see the day. Born in 1918, one of Uncle Pete’s last joys with all his children together was to witness one more unexpected miracle. A WWII vet (which I only learned about at the funeral, hence the flag-draped coffin), hard-working farmer who never missed a church service, pillar of Winfield, life-long Democrat,

unassuming cousin of Louisiana’s legendary Long family, dedicated husband of 51 years, widower for 14, proud father of five, loving grandfather and great-grandfather of dozens, he was a simple man with few needs who lived to celebrate every moment that he could squeeze out of his full life.

I never got to tell my uncle that even as a small child I always admired him. He was a decent and humble man. Although he wasn’t Catholic, I thought how he would have appreciated this sight.

Tuesday, the Tuesday before Mardi Gras in New Orleans, will forever be known as Dat Tuesday from here on out by the WHO DAT NATION. Another nickname for the occasion is Lombardi Gras. It was the day the Crescent City held it’s first ever Superbowl Victory Parade for the New Orleans Saints. A Mardi Gras style parade of marching bands and floats loaded with festive Saints players, coaches and staff traveled through the streets of the Big Easy to a cheerful crowd of 800,000 fans celebrating their 43 year climb to become the Superbowl Champs for the first time ever. It was undoubtedly the biggest Superbowl Victory parade in the history of the Championships because this town knows how to throw a parade best!

But, this event is bigger than a sports victory. It’s a mix of life lessons. Here’s a few: Never give up on your dreams. In life, you must take chances to succeed. Those who are willing to succeed work hard, perpare diligently, focus on execution and not fear failure. There are many more. But, it is also a message to a troubled city devastated  by the blow of Katrina and poverty. New Orleans is a city of winners. This Championship season has lifted the spirits of the hopeless and given faith to the believers. The Saints Franchise understands that their function as ambassadors and role models is a responsibility to their fans and to the people of New Orleans. They fulfilled their mission flawlessly and are greatly appreciated for it.

THE BIG EASY IS BACK!