Gris Gris in the Bayou

"Do you think palm readers make any money?" I asked my dad as we passed a place of business dedicated to the supernatural arts.
"Probably not." A few minutes of silence and then, "My cousin was one."
This is a typical sort of conversation when your dad is from South Louisiana. There is always a cousin or uncle involved in the story and they always did something extraordinary.

"Your cousin was an Olympic skater."

"Your uncle has a crawfish farm."

"Your cousin was a bull rider."

"My uncle threw a brick at me once."

Of course, they never are your actual cousin. It's like your grandma's aunt's son. But to simplify it, everyone is just "cousin."

My dad and his cousin Kirby were working at the same job site one day when my dad went to put something in the back of Kirby's car. He opened the hatch and in the back were all sorts of black candles and other voodoo paraphernalia. My dad was startled and when he looked over, Kirby said, "Don't you get into this."

Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen of New Orleans

My dad didn't need any convincing. He already had an experience with Cajun white magic or "gris gris" when he was 10. Gris gris is the nice version of voodoo. A traiteur uses gris gris to heal people. When I asked my dad how to spell traiteur, he threw out a couple of letters and then said "Ah I don't know how to spell it, I just know how to pronounce it."

My mawmaw, Marie Alix, had a friend tell her "Meh Alice, why don't you take Chris to a traiteur?" Never one to pass up an opportunity to improve health, my grandmother carted her son over to the old Frenchman's place. My dad didn't think there was anything wrong with him that needed fixing. As a matter of fact, my grandmother wasn't sure what needed fixing either, but there was probably something. When they got to the mysterious traiteur, my dad was worried that he might need something fixed after the experience. Or in his words, "That place scared the crap outta me." The man started to mumble things in French, threw some salt at my dad's face and then pronounced him healed.

I think the only thing the traiteur cured him of was a desire to meddle with gris gris. Good, bad or otherwise.

My dad at his first communion.