Sometimes, raising a Catholic native New Orleanian is strange business; especially when you're neither a) Catholic nor b) a native. However, it also provides hours of entertainment.
For example, when Emmeline and I were flying home on Sunday from Georgia, I made sure to wear my Saints t-shirt. When we got the TSA screening area at the Jacksonville airport, the TSA agent saw my shirt and told me she was rooting for the Saints, too. Upon mention of the word "Saints," Emmeline immediately launched into Yat mode and alternated between singing the Who Dat chant and yelling black and gold in the Superbowl. The TSA agent started laughing and crying at the same time and told me that her hometown was New Orleans and that we'd just made not only her day, but her year.
That was a good moment.
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