My Indian Red
I remember as a kid waking up on Mardi Gras Day in Uptown. The air was always hot and sweet with the anticipation of the celebration. My heart was always racing when I was holding my parent’s hands while I was halfway running to the corner on Jenna St. The drums and whistles from the bands that woke me were louder and I was high on my daddy’s shoulders waiting for that Zulu coconut to come my way.
” Tell ’em, Throw me something, Mister!”, my daddy would say.
So I yelled with making my voice as loud as I could with my father dancing around with me on his shoulders. I got a golden Zulu coconut and I watched my father fight for it too. We would only stay for a little while with my father commenting on how Zulu was the only thing worth standing…
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