“Balloons!” my 5 year-old daughter, Emersyn, tugged at my shorts.
I didn’t respond. I was far too entranced with the Bourbon Street, New Orleans circus that engulfed me from all directions.
“Dad! Dad!” Emersyn persisted.
“Yes, honey?” my fog finally cleared.
“Those balloons over there – can I get one?”
While on vacation, I’d normally just say yes. This time, though, I found the request odd as we were standing smack-dab in the middle of Bourbon Street. I peered left to take a quick look at the street balloon figurine I resigned myself to buying.
The balloon was no figurine.
“No, honey. Those balloons aren’t for kids,” I replied, now leading Emersyn in the other direction, blushing.
Oh. My. God.
The old man standing next to the folding chair with balloons was, after all, mending balloons into decorative hats – like those we’ve bought at farmers markets or the fair. These hats, though, weren’t adorned with cute animals, or swords, or flowers. No, the balloon hats that Emersyn eyed were PENSISES. Yes, penis hats – complete with a white balloon ejecting from the tip.
So began my children’s Bourbon Street education.
What my kids saw on Bourbon Street
When we planned to visit New Orleans during Spring Break, we did not intend on our children (ages 5 to 15) setting foot on the infamously scandalous street. Us parents would certainly go there, but the kids’ activities would be more wholesome – the Aquarium, Jackson Square, the French Quarters, and eating beignets. (Plug: watch for my upcoming review of what to do with kids in New Orleans for details of these great, family friendly things to do.)
We stuck to the plan until Day Two. After watching a magician in the square, our kids heard the buzz of Bourbon Street and asked what the fuss was about. What the hell, I thought – we should demystify Bourbon Street for them or they may wander off to do so themselves.
So, we did. Off to Bourbon Street we went – all seven of us.
While it was mid-afternoon on a Saturday, our kids were ill prepared for the Bourbon Street my wife and I had become familiar with the night before. Namely, my kids didn’t expect the street to be as dirty, littered, and lined with the evidence of daytime debauchery spilling out from the nearby establishments.
My oldest, Yosef (15 years-old) compared the tattered streets to those of West Africa we’ve visited.
Keep in mind that medicine does not viagra order shop work without sexual stimulation. When there is http://appalachianmagazine.com/2018/02/03/how-appalachia-created-the-state-of-texas-why-its-influence-remains/ cheapest price viagra an imbalance or deficiency, then it affects reproductive capability. This ingredient is also present in the branded buy viagra from indias. low priced viagra Do not practice it for any other purpose.My kids took notice of the street performers of their similar ages – the three little boys beating plastic buckets with drum sticks, and the family of four sitting together while accepting donations. My kids were taken aback, both by the talents of these young people on display and the relative poverty they must live in.
“Man, Dad,” Lynden (my 13 years-old) pulled me aside, “These kids sit down here all day, every day?”
“Probably on the weekends, bud,” I replied somberly.
The last mental note my kids seemed to make was of the animals on Bourbon Street – the snakes draped around the necks of several people strolling around, the street cats and dogs, the horses chauffeuring patrolling police officers, and the mules pulling the wagons of tourists around.
“Can we take a kitty home, Dad?” Emersyn’s interest had (thankfully) shifted from penis balloon hats to a new family pet.
I smiled, broke her heart by refusing, and ushered her off of Bourbon at Canal Street.
Should kids experience Bourbon Street?
When I travel with my kids and as long as I can insure their safety, I always try to allow them to see everything. In this case, I knew what would stand out to them on Bourbon Street – my older kids would certainly take in the sexual inferences and drunkenness; my younger children would notice the animals and trinket shops. These surface-level tidbits were only a piece of what each learned on Bourbon Street, though.
Walking around Bourbon Street my kids realized, I gather, how fortunate they are. After all, they aren’t sitting in the heat to earn money for the family or hustling tourists to get cash to buy lunch.
My kids walked away feeling pretty normal – seeing this outrageous place tells them that an existence that can seem routine may not be all that bad.
Our children, I think, respected us for allowing them to spend time in this human zoo. Even my timid 8 year-old, Everett, who spent most of the time scared and clung to my hip, now laughs at the guy tap dancing on a torn down street sign. His eyes widened as the dancing gentleman stopped his tapping to accept a tip from a passerby – pulling out a wad of $1 bills like he’d never seen before. To which Everett exclaimed, “Oh my God, Dad. I can’t believe that guy is RICH!”
My kids were better for having been on Bourbon Street – even with the shadier aspects of the trek.
Was I torn about having my kids walk Bourbon Street in New Orleans? Yes.
Was I worried about their safety in doing so? No.
Did my kids enjoy their time there? Absolutely. They still laugh at the thought of things they experienced.
Will I ever blindly agree to buy a street balloon again? Still no.
Would I allow my kids to go to Bourbon Street again? Of course.
Should you go to Bourbon Street with your kids? You tell me (really, I want your opinion).
This post reminds me of a trip to New Orleans that I made with my parents in 1986 as an 8 year old child. It was supposed to be mom and dad’s second honeymoon, but unfortunately my grandmother was having some health issues at the time and her and grandpa could not watch me. So I went to New Orleans with mom and dad.
To an eight year old child, New Orleans is a scary and fascinating place. I had a bar earache from the plane trip the first night that we were there but I remember going to Bourbon Street to have a Cajun seafood meal and what probably got me into that cuisine of food. There were the drunks, the bars, the sex and lots of questions about them (which my parents were oddly open about). My father and I went out of the hotel the next morning and had an interaction with a voodoo witch at a fast food place in the Bourbon Street area who put her hands on us and said we were “good people.”
Lastly, this trip to New Orleans was one of my first experiences of the disposition of people of color which also brought up conversation. I remember my father getting into an argument because he gave up his seat to a tired African-American lady on a bus. In 1986 this was still an unwritten taboo in the South, 30 years after Rosa Parks.