Memories of Mardi Gras beads

I have a coffee mug filled with a few strings of Mardi Gras beads. I actually got them from a bar on Beale Street in Memphis where I sang Mustang Sally with the band, but that's not why I keep them. They bring back memories of another set of beads from my childhood.

The Mardi Gras beads of my memory are hanging on a coat hanger (known as a rack at our house) on the coat closet door. Daddy brought them to us girls from the actual Mardi Gras in New Orleans. He went every year by himself courtesy of the U.S. Navy.

Daddy was a Chief Petty Officer in the Naval Reserves for a hunnert years after serving two active duties in WWII and the Korean War. He looked very handsome in his uniform with all the braids and stripes and medals and stuff. Since he had seniority over just about every CPO in the nation, he got first dibs on where he would serve his annual two-week training duty. He picked the New Orleans naval base during Mardi Gras every year.

I remember the strands of beads hanging there on the rack on the closet door. I was not allowed to touch them because my obsessive-compulsive older sister had just finished sorting them by color, style and length. They hung there like a sacred cow for a long time, several weeks maybe. I suppose I eventually did get to touch them, play with them, break them, and lose them. Now I remember why I wasn't allowed to touch them.

Anyway, my current beads remind me of those beads, of how Daddy made a point to collect them and bring them back to us, and how special that made me feel. They remind me of how handsome Daddy looked in his uniform and how proud I was to be his daughter when he was wearing it. They remind me that my quiet, unassuming father probably had a wild streak he let loose for two weeks every year.

I'm keeping these beads forever.