French Quarter

Dad has one of those plug in GPS systems and I saw we were heading south. Not that I was the brightest kid in school. but I know that even the lowest end of California was north of where we were, so I questioned. “Dad we are we going now?” “New Orleans, Bennie”. “Why?” “Bennie, you’ll understand later”. Mom and sis just kept quiet.

We did make an overnight stop in Louisiana. Surprisingly at a Marriott hotel. No questions here. Leave good enough alone. There was a Wallmart a few blocks away. That’s where he parked the truck. It was a great relief for us. We went swimming, went into the hot tub and dad took us to one of those fancy restaurants in the town. What got into him? Nope, won’t ask.
I think that took a lot of the frustrations away, being that were stuck in that truck all the time and the frustrations of not knowing everything that was going on. Maybe that was the idea.

We arrived on Canal Street in New Orleans the next day. Dad had a hard time finding a place to park the truck, so we ended up in a Wallmart parking lot again. He told us to wait in the truck. Again, he went off by himself in the early morning hours. Walked three blocks then turned onto another street.

It was a hot day, so we left the truck and sort of ‘camped’ out until he returned. About an hour later, he came back. The only words he said was ‘Let’s go’. Seemed to be in some sort of a rush and I noticed he was watching the rear view mirror a lot.