Why I love(d) Texas


Our culture is changing in America.

OK. This blog is not about the change, but about what was.

I loved Texas, because we stood for something.

Whether called upon by George Patton (and President F.D.R.), or by the Confederacy, the people of Mexico (against Napoleon), or the Nation of Texas, we always fought for what was our duty.

I lost family in the Alamo.

I had family who were Mexican-Texans.

My family is proud of who and what we were.

Years ago, when my Grandmother Ora was researching our family, she called a Mayor of a small Texas city. He told her that he did not have time to talk with her about family.

Well. One thing led to another. And he called my grandmother back and apologized. His mother had told him in no uncertain terms that he would love to talk about family, because he should be proud of his family.

Almost everyone in my home county was my cousin. (I grew up 12 hours away – you gotta love a state that big).

I do.

But, everyone back home was related to me. By blood or marriage.

I am proud of that.

Proud of my ancestors who had been Mexicans. I was proud of those who were Native-Americans.

I won’t brag on the outlaws in the family for this blog, but we had them. And they really were not in the closet.

Proud that we were prosperous.

Proud that we worked hard.

Proud of our families.

Even our schools, even though some teachers had been real hard on me.

I was proud that time I saw my grandfather ask some men “To go out back with me. We need to have a talk with ‘Johnnie.’ I am hearing he is being rough with his wife.”

I would like that sense of pride back.

Do you know what I mean?

Do you wish we had more of that in us today?


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