Have Some Texas

For no reason whatsoever I am proud I am a Native Texan. Not a lot of people go around saying, I'm proud to be a Native New Yorker/Utahite/pick-your-state*.

And why don't they say that, You ask?

Because none of the other 49 are Texas, that's why.

Back in the mists of time, when I was thinking about having a kid (and I did give it serious consideration for like forty minutes at least), the one thing I knew for sure was I would fly back home to deliver so the poor bastard** would start life on the high note of being a Texan.

No one said I was rational.

A tune from the homegrown ZZTop, about a friendly little place in Central Texas. Yes, it was a real clapboard farm house with a vegetable garden.  I passed it every time I drove between Po-Dunk and Austin during my college years:

* Except maybe those back-assed folks from Oklahoma - 

  "Imma Okie!"  Seriously? Who would BRAG about that?  

** Both descriptors would have been accurate, let's be honest.

Seeds

Thinking about the Martin Luther King Memorial finally being dedicated in DC soon.

Makes me also think about how I grew up in racism.

Black folks weren't openly condemned as, you know, bad; just, questionable.

Living many years with my grandparents, I heard from my grandfather every ugly descriptor one can utter about black folks.  

I won't repeat them here. 

I remember once my Grandma described a woman from church - She was 'a Nice Lady, you know, for being Colored.'

At the time I lived with my grandparents, maybe 3rd grade or so.  I had no bedroom so I slept on the couch and I had a radio, a teddy, and a box of 64 Crayolas (the one with the sharpener!).  

All I remember thinking was, Someone COLORED her? 

When I was in junior high in the late 70s I went to several dances sponsored by the CYO (Catholic Youth Organization).  That was fine with my dad until he realized the venue was in 'That side of town.'  Then he laid down the law, saying he'd spent his life getting away from .... 'that and those people'. 

Poverty?  Black people?  His own neglected, chronically hungry, beaten childhood?  I still don't know.  The one and only night he picked me up from a CYO dance, he saw who else attended and I was forbidden to go to another (not that I didn't sneak out and go anyway - that goes without saying).

In high school in the 80s, one of our cheerleaders, Edie, was very much in love with Terence, star receiver.  And he her.  It was an open secret they were involved, and when I could I'd pick them up in my old '70 Monte Carlo.  They in the back seat, me driving from Po-Dunk to the Coast.  We'd go as far as a tank of gas could take us.  We'd smoke, drink, listen to the crash of the waves, and then head back to Po-Dunk.

..........

Before I wrote this I looked up a few blogs (most out of California) to see what the Young People were saying. 

One that stood out was a wonk in their twenties, who opened a post with, "I never thought I'd live to see the day that..."

Really?  I'm sure this is a well-educated young person but s/he's been on the planet roughly two decades.  The first hardly cognizant.  Half of said life was pre-pubescent.  

Note to Young Bloggers:  Don't use a phrase like "I never thought I'd see the day" unless you've actually seen something, like, during your own lifetime.  Because if you are already chagrined at 24, the next fifty years are going to really suck for you.  To put it nicely, using such phrases undermines your credibility.  Assuming you have any beyond your diploma.

Racism is deeply woven, and often only recognized when chosen - and when open enough - to be seen.  

As is misogyny.

I try hard to be better than the person I was raised to be.  Not everyone even recognizes the racism they live with, or live by.

I want to be beyond those fifteen, twenty years of hate and judgment.  And I'm a well-educated, open, loving person, at least I like to think so.

I hope the twenty-something ivy-leagues of this affluent world, who have a policy-wonk voice, can recognize not everyone has been handed what they have been handed.

So Yay you, Privileged, Judgmental Children People.

The rest of us had to do it the hard way.

And get off my lawn! 

Have Some Music

Did you know George Gershwin was a bit of a jackass?  Especially to his less-accomplished brother.  

After returning to the States from Australia, I spent a few days in Austin with my friend Chris.  Chris and I had explored Bangkok together, a fascinating and exotic city, one of the most amazing cities I have ever seen.  Then - here we were at home in Texas, as at home as one could be.

We went to his family's country home in the Hill Country outside Austin to spend a quiet summer weekend.  It’s a beautiful old farmhouse with deep porches, plantation-shuttered windows and sweeping views of the peach orchards below.

It was just us, his family still in Bangkok. Everything was covered in sheets, quiet and somehow timeless.  We opened up the windows and the sheets danced a little in the breeze.

We swung slowly on a porch swing, watching the approaching Texas thunderstorm darkening the horizon.  Lightning in the distance, the thunder rolling; doing the count between seeing the lightning and hearing the thunder to know how far away the storm was.

Not a cicada, no tree frog, no bird calls, when a storm like that is coming.

Gershwin poured out the windows.

Smelling the aroma of the storm, the heat, the ripe peaches.

It was a beautiful moment in time.

Texas, Our Texas

First off, I want to be careful here because the only person I want to truly mock on this blog is me. But I just returned from a weekend at home in Po-Dunk for my brother's wedding and there were some pretty funny moments with my Texan brethren.
....

Apparently silverware has its own nickname in Texas: "snackin' irons".

I heard the words, "ain't", "yonder" and "vittles" often enough to last a lifetime. Also just so you know, if it is farther than yonder, it's "way down yonder".

Related to, but different from, the plural of "ya'll", which is "all ya'll".
....

My Mom is almost completely deaf - she only has about 20% of her hearing in one ear. These leads to her often misunderstanding what is said to her.

Dad to Mom: Did I tell you the story of Howard meeting his wife?
Mom: What?? When did that happen? That's awful - was that before or after they got married?
Dad: ?
Mom: Oh, I thought you said 'beating'.

Me to Mom: Mom, do you want a glass of wine?
Mom: No, I have some in my purse.
....

My Dad always drops one really excellent gem, and I often time it to see how long I am home before he does.
Picking me up at the airport, Dad jumps out of the car and hugs me. "Wow, you look great! You're not fat again!" Timing: two minutes.
....

I saw my Uncle Bobby and Aunt Reba Lee (yes). We have the same exchange every time I see them.

Aunt Reba: So what have you been doing?
Me: Well I'm an attorney now, working on environmental policy issues in DC. I get sound science in front of congressmen so they can make informed decisions on the application of statutes, like the Endangered Species Act, for example.
Aunt Reba: So no man? Well honey you're not getting any younger.

Here's what I fantasize about:
Aunt Reba: So what have you been doing?
Me: Well my novel is on the New York Times best seller list, I discovered the cure for cancer, and I single-handedly end the drug wars in Mexico.
Aunt Reba: So no man? Well honey you're not getting any younger.