Tamara Reed

Busker is an old English term for a street musician; my father was a busker in the French Quarter for around two decades. His years were spent divided, he was an fruit picker during the summer and fall seasons in the small rural northwest town where I grew up and a busker in the winter and spring months in the Big Easy, New Orleans, the French Quarter. He would send me bags of Mardi Gras beads, postcards, and once a watercolor caricature of myself painted by a Quarter artist; I was intrigued by the other worldy flavor of his gifts and his stories when he returned every year, always unexpectedly. When I voiced my interest he broke character and forbid me to ever set foot in the Quarter until after the age of 18.

He often told me to make plans was folly and sure enough when I was 16 he was forced to permit me, reluctantly, to join him in New Orleans, by an unexpected chain of events.

This simple change of venue changed my life as the French Quarter became my high school, teaching me lessons never thought up in an academic curriculum. I lived a life most teenagers think they'd die for - no rules, no homework, no expectations - able to drink in bars and run the streets without any restrictions. The French Quarter became my my playground during the "school year" and beaches on both the west & east coast were my summer vacations.

It was an unusual coming of age to say the least but all up sides have down sides and every bright moment has a shadow.