The Yellow Rose of Texas

My blog is one year old today! There will be no party at Chuck E. Cheese or special photo shoot at Olan Mills. I’m celebrating by sitting down at my desk and writing something. I haven’t been inspired to write lately, but this email from my brother John, of “The Shiny Spoon” fame, got me thinking about my life here in Texas.

Sent: Sun., Jan. 17, 2010 (during the Cowboys/Vikings game)
To: Donna
Subject: Oh, the yellow rose of Texas!

My Dear Sister,

Years ago when you moved to Texas I quietly thought, “It's just a work related move and only temporary; she won't stay.” Then after many years and still living in Texas you became a Texas Longhorn fan and I thought, “Why not? It's great fun to have a winner to cheer about; and after all it's Robert's college and it won't last past Robert's graduation.”

Last Friday you really shocked me when you said, "John, I'm becoming a Dallas Cowboys fan.” In shock and panic and disbelief I fell to my knees and looked up to the heaven's and I shouted, "Lord God Almighty, what have you done? You've let my beloved sister become a Texan.”

Love, John

Let me explain. . .

1970: To my “native Texan” friends, please try to understand his perspective. John’s only extended stay in Texas was for basic training during the Vietnam War. His 1970 military draft lottery number was 31, so that bad boy was going into the military whether he wanted to or not. He chose to enlist in the Air Force rather than be drafted, and wound up in San Antonio. It was not a happy place, nor was it a happy time.

1974: My U.S. Marine husband got orders to NAS Kingsville, Texas as an instructor in advanced jets at the Naval Air Training Station there. I transferred from San Diego to Dallas/Ft. Worth and commuted back and forth to Kingsville on Braniff Airways for three l-o-n-g years. Oh, but we were miserable there! When Jim got orders back to California, it was the happiest day of our lives. We swore never to return to Texas after that.

1979: Zoom ahead a few years and my fellow American Airlines employees might recall when our corporation moved its headquarters from New York to Texas. Remember “Death Before Dallas” bumper stickers and T-shirts? AA employees from all over the United States fought and hated that move. Texas was a big, mysterious, wild place—the frontier, (or the moon), to much of the rest of the country. Remember the Texas marketing slogan: “Texas—It’s like a whole other country?”

1988: Jim left the military, was hired by Continental Airlines and wound up based in Houston. After a few years of his commuting from southern California, another move to Texas seemed like an intelligent choice, since that would put us both living and working in the same state. I transferred to our Dallas/Ft. Worth base again, we packed up the soon-to-be-one-year-old Robert, and moved back to Texas.

1993: As Robert grew older, I faithfully reminded him that he was a California boy. One day at the tender age of five, he looked up at the Texas flag waving above his elementary school and announced as we drove by, "Mom, I love the 'lonely' star flag. I think I'm a Texan." Broke my heart, it did! But it also got me thinking about my own attitude. Perhaps if I spent a little less energy hating the place, I might find I actually liked something about it.

Dear John. . .

And to all you natives that I may have offended here, to my fellow Texas immigrants, and the rest: Yes, the weather sucks; the place is full of rabid right wingers, guns, and rattlesnakes; and our governor is known for his good hair and stupid comments. But it’s been the best place to raise a kid, there’s no state income tax, our home is worth what it’s worth, and there’s no salt rust on my six-year-old car. Ahm fixin’ tuh stay a spell.

Note to John: Come visit. You'd be surprised. Make sure it's not in July or August, though. It gits kinda warm here.

Love and thanks for the inspiration,
Donna

I Feel Like a Woman

Our son Robert has always brought us laughter along with all the other joys a good kid brings his family. And he’s always been an appreciative kid—grateful for the things we were able to provide him. Because of this we sometimes got a little carried away at Christmas and birthdays and were perhaps a little over indulgent at times.

Those of us who have raised a child from zero to adulthood in the past 25 years have had the fortune (or misfortune) of having to keep up as more and more sophisticated and expensive electronic toys and games were designed and marketed. We had to buy the latest Nintendo and keep buying as more advanced gear came along. Otherwise our children’s fragile little psyches might be permanently damaged. I defy one single parent out there to tell me that they never got sucked into the old “but everyone else has one,” ploy.

Our son is twenty-two now and I think we're well past that stage of life. We still get a little carried away with the presents, and this Christmas was no different. In addition to electronic games for his Xbox and computer, and clothes that are in keeping with his new, post-college man image, we bought him some useful electronic things for his new apartment. We didn’t go overboard on the “useful” things—just a vacuum cleaner and a steam iron.

“Nothing's as mean as giving a little child something useful for Christmas.” ~Kin Hubbard

“Oh, good!” he said when he tore the Christmas wrap off the box with the iron inside. “I can really use that.” Then he unwrapped the big box with the vacuum cleaner in it. “So this is what it feels like to be a woman at Christmas,” he announced totally deadpan. Jim and I laughed so hard we cried. Welcome to the world of grownups, Robert!

Donna

Our friend, Roy Pitt, who volunteers with Jim at the Ft. Worth Veterans Memorial Air Park, sent this note after reading my "Toys for Tots" story. Thank you, Roy, for giving us a glimpse of what it's like to deliver to the kiddos.

Our local Marine Reserve station here [Texarkana] doesn't do drive-by’s [toy and fund collections]. They do a tent at our two Walmarts (one on the Texas side and one on the Arkansas side); we volunteers help out there. Our biggest job and best time is the hand outs. We old Corps guys man the hand-out station and do deliveries. Seeing the kids scream, cry, and generally run around like wild Indians is absolutely the best.

Roy Pitt, USMC Vietnam Vet

The Christmas Gift

At last I’m sitting down and sitting still long enough to write. For the past three weeks, whenever I thought about writing, my inner nag would remind me of something I needed to do to get ready for Christmas.

My Christmas was wonderful and I hope yours was also. Robert came home on Monday before Christmas and stayed until the following Sunday. Jim has been home since the 22nd, even after getting stuck in London an extra day with scheduling and routing problems with his airline. In the old days, when he was a junior pilot with little seniority, he would have been lucky to hold a schedule that got him home the day after Christmas. With age does come some perks.

While I’m most grateful to my family and my friends for their generosity and hospitality this holiday season, I’d like to tell you about a wonderful gift I gave myself.

On Saturday, December 12, Jim and I, along with our friends Gerry Fix, Judy Haag, and Sandy Wroe, volunteered to help collect for the United States Marine Corps “Toys for Tots” program. On behalf of the Ft. Worth Veterans Memorial Air Park, we manned a very busy intersection near the Hulen Mall in Ft. Worth. For four hours, we waved our collection buckets and dashed out into traffic when someone offered a donation. That may not sound very long, but be assured that age 60-plus feet, knees, and backs are getting a real workout in those four hours. Avoiding getting run over, and hopping over curbs and fire ant mounds, made for an exhausting, but truly rewarding adventure.

Sandy and I worked with a handsome young man who said his name was Ambrose. I asked him if that was his first name or his last name and what would he like us to call him. He said we could call him Lance Corporal. I respectfully obliged, but as I recall, Sandy called him “Sweetie” the whole time. He didn’t seem to mind. Sandy and I were all bundled up for the drizzle and cold weather we had that weekend, while Lance Corporal Ambrose was in his dress blues only. Surely the U.S.M.C. has heard about silk long johns from L.L.Bean. The kid was freezing. After a couple of hours of running out into traffic, Lance Corporal Ambrose announced to me, “I feel really happy and kind of wired.”

“I think it’s the carbon monoxide,” I told him. “You need a break.” He had less than an hour to go, so he stuck with it—with a smile, a “thank you,” and a “Merry Christmas” to everyone who donated.

The Debrief

When our stretch ended, Jim took us girls to lunch at Chili’s. The five of us talked and laughed and rehashed the experience and the people we encountered. We all agreed that the Marines were amazing young men and women. And we all agreed that we had observed these three things:

• The more expensive the vehicle, the less likely the driver was to make a donation. Perhaps the drivers of the Jaguars and Hummers that roared past us with the windows up had already given all they could. I say that with equal parts sincerity, wonder and sarcasm. We all found that fascinating.

• Conversely, the more beat up and run down the vehicle, the more likely the driver was to give something. And often the drivers of those old clunkers would let their tiny children drop a few coins into our buckets. Many folks emptied their coin-filled ashtray for us, apologizing that it was all they had. We also found that fascinating.

• And finally, we discovered that begging on a street corner is a humbling experience. We caught on quickly that a window rolled down as a vehicle approached meant we would receive a donation. But it was also nice when a driver would smile and wave as they drove on, windows up, without making a donation. We learned that a smile and a wave are gifts of kindness and humanity, too.

All five of us had aches and pains in one area or another afterward, but we all agreed it was an uplifting, truly rewarding experience, and we’ll gladly do it again next year!

Happy New Year to all,
Donna