CCJC: Audio Podcast Episode 00065, Season 2
Just for today let’s forget about bayou breezes and the scent of NOLA good cooking for a moment. Today, Cajun Podcast Corporation is diving deep into one of our staff stories and poems. These verses are as raw as a peeled uncooked crawfish tail, a tale spun not just from Louisiana soil, but from the grit and grace of a Cajun father’s heart.
Meet the other side of Jean Dugas, one of our own podcast staff members, a man who juggles the high-stakes world of podcast marketing with a burden heavier than any Mardi Gras float. He has the profound responsibility of being a single parent to a child battling the relentless advance of Friedreich’s Ataxia (FRDA). This isn’t just a poetic inner thoughts biography folks.
This is about a tightrope walk while juggling and protecting his precious teenage daughter while he also navigates deadlines and deals, a tribute to his fierce love that fuels him. In these turbulent times, when the world feels like it’s constantly off-kilter, Jean’s poem brings home and sheds light on the quiet strength that blooms right here in our listening and reading audience’s heartland – a strength born not just of survival, but of an unwavering devotion to make the world a little brighter, one story, one poem, one lesson, on breath at a time.
"I am worn out from my groaning. All night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears. My eyes grow weak with sorrow; they grow old because of all my enemies." – Psalm 6:6-7 (NIV)
The Podcast Juggler’s Lament
The up before humid dawn, a slow chicory coffee unfurling awakening face,
Across the Mississippi River’s misty polluted fog, time-to-get up lacks grace.
I, Jean Dugas, eyes now open, brow still etched with lines of another worrying night,
Where Acadian Friedreich’s Ataxia’s sorrow wrestles with emerging daylight.
Anastasie stirs, I know her fragile, oft whispered cure me plea,
And in that troubled sound, I accept that my soul is bound in responsibility.
I’m worn out from my groaning all night long, my eyes weak with sorrow.
I count out the measured drops, the pills upon my palm,
My constant mind rhythm in this weary Psalm 6:6-7 memorized psalm.
Each careful life, a silent groan, my fervent vow,
Against the thief that steals my baby girl’s “can” and “how.”
Then daycare giver’s door opens, my hurried parting glances,
Leaning a piece of me in a shaky “take-care-of-her off to work trance.
I’m worn out from my groaning all night long, my eyes weak with sorrow.
At work the studio’s buzz, a brassy this is NOLA bling kinda hum,
Where Creole and Cajun cadence and rich multi-generational stories come.
I craft the marketing sound, attention to detail podcast’s artful nuances add believe,
But in my tired soul, a deeper weight occasionally leads me to grieve.
The marketing’s up in the air dance, a juggling act I must keep up so bold,
While Anastasie’s story and ultimate fate waits, begging to be untold.
I’m worn out from my groaning all night long, my eyes weak with sorrow.
The sleepless hours I keep, steeped in Terrebonne Bayou memories deep,
Where Spanish moss hangs like all our silent survival secrets dreamily sleep.
Each restless tossing and turn, a worry banished to take flight,
I can’t escape my fatherly vigil watching over her in the lonely night.
I see the future, blurred by a shadowed lack of a cure kind of a fear,
Both of our silent battles, year after weary year.
I’m worn out from my groaning all night long, my eyes weak with sorrow.
Her mother’s flight ghost, a fog, clinging I-can’t-fix-that shroud,
A sudden and permanent absence, seldom spoken about aloud.
Only in guarded mentions, a pain for her that won’t quite cease,
Leaving her with a yearning of not being abandoned for a lost release.
I juggle multiple roles, both father and mother, along with being a friend,
A feeling like the last street car home and the tracks are rusty without end.
I’m worn out from my groaning all night long, my eyes weak with sorrow.
Yet in my daughter’s spirit, she’s a bright swamp azalea still in blooms,
Defying the painful shadows in her quiet often peer friendless rooms.
Her art, a canvas where her ever so brave heart still sings,
A timid beauty that Cajun resilience still lives and brings.
And in those hope paint drop hues, a fleeting joy for both of us takes hold,
Anastasie’s story is still being painted, art treasures worth more than pure gold.
I’m worn out from my groaning all night long, my eyes weak with sorrow.
I find my solace in this grand Louisiana city, where the saxophone still sighs,
Beneath the iron wrought lace balconies where silvery moonlight lies.
The scent of pralines and sugarcane, a New Orleans bakery comfort bittersweet,
A taste of a place we still call home, not ever meant to be a temporary retreat.
The mocktail Hurricane Rita, my occasional swirl of sweet NOLA disguise,
A moment’s truce in weary parental adulting, under watchful blue eyes.
I’m worn out from my groaning all night long, my eyes NOT always weak with sorrow.
So, I am Jean Dugas, aka “The Juggler” with a burdened but expert unlikely hand,
Keeper of fragile hopes & prayers above the fray of troubling times of shifting sand.
I throw, I catch, I love my child, that’s my only guide,
With Anastaisie’s joyful spirit, rolling by my walking stride.
I lead by caring, in this heartfelt never-a-burden unpublished play,
Just one Louisiana single father, doing my best, come what may.
I might be worn out from my groaning all night long, but the dawn of being her father greets me with a wonderful song.
Our poems, lyrics, recipes, and tales are inspired by real Louisiana and New Orleans history and non-fictional stories, but some details may have been spiced up for a good story. While we've respected the truth in our comingled fiction, a bit of creative license could have been used. Please note that all characters may be based on real people, but their identities in some cases have been Avatar masked for privacy. Others are fictional characters with connections to Louisiana.
A Word of Wisdom:
As you read, remember history and real life is a complex mix of joy, sorrow, triumph, and tragedy. While we may have (or not) added a bit of fiction, the core message remains: the human spirit's power to endure, adapt, and overcome.
© Jerilee Wei 2025 All Rights Reserved.
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