By Oswald Sobrino, J.D.; M.A. (Econ.); M.A. (Theo.); M.L. (Master of Latin), doctoral student, University of Florida.

Monday, May 5, 2014

You Can Go Home

In my case, going home means visiting New Orleans. But not the New Orleans of Uptown's clownish snobs (but I do go uptown to visit and reminisce at my Jesuit college which gave me a wonderful education, especially in philosophy). I also go to my old Jesuit high school in a blue collar neighborhood to sneak into the halls and see where I first received a classical education and to revisit an old, small chapel with its Hispano-Moorish windows. Finally, I revisit the now gritty, historic neighborhood close to the French Quarter where my immigrant parents first lived and whose leafy avenues I recall walking as a child. I especially recall my childhood wonder at the grotto dedicated to the Annunciation at the historic, humble, and now vacant Catholic church where my brother was baptized. I say I first lived very close to heaven because we were so close to Elysian Fields Avenue (classicists will appreciate the pun).

That is the New Orleans I call home--not the New Orleans of exclusive clubs or Mardi Gras krewes or of the surreal obtuseness and caricature called uptown snobbery or of entrenched racism and classism. And I bet my New Orleans in the most profound sense of the term is the "richest" part of the city.
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