Not Texan Enough

If you watch old home movies of me as a kid, you probably wouldn’t believe it was me. Not because I look that different (aside from the horrible perm of the late 80’s) but because of how I talked back then.

I used to talk like a Texan. An East Texan at that. Watch this for a funny, yet true, explanation of how even all Texans aren’t the same.

I remember when my parents decided to move to Georgia. I was mad. I planned on living and dying in Texas. After all, somewhere along the way, a great sense of Texas pride had been instilled in me. No, I don’t remember my Daddy sitting me down and telling me that Texas was the best place in the universe, but I sure as heck believed it. With all my heart. As do most Texans. It’s the norm for your average citizen to fly a state flag right alongside the American flag. Weird? Not in Texas.

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So, when they decided to move out of Texas, it was like a betrayal of sorts. Just blogging about Texas is making me sound a little more Texas again. Don’t ya’ll think?

I thought many things I said and did were what the whole world said and did. That is until I moved out of Texas. Sure, there was the girl that moved to my small little town in TX when I was in middle school and informed me that not everyone in the world said, “fixin’ to” when I got the first hint that maybe things were a little different in Texas, but I still had no desire to go anywhere else. Ever.

But, when my parents moved, I eventually did too (long story there).  I lived in GA (which isn’t all that different from TX) for a few short months before I moved to California to become a full-time missionary for my church. For 18-months, I spoke another language entirely, so it was easy to let go of that southern drawl a little. I’m not sure if I was trying to or not. I don’t remember ever making a conscious decision to stop my southern accent, but somewhere between moving out of TX, and speaking a foreign language, it began to happen.

After California, I moved to UT. Then Philadelphia. Back to Georgia, and now, back to UT. So, I’ve been away from my Texas for a long time. 17 years to be exact. I’ve learned to love something about every place I’ve lived, but I believe that for now, UT is where I will live my life. I won’t swear that I will die here, because you never know what lies ahead, but I know for now, it’s home.

Sometimes though, I wonder if I’m not being me because somewhere along the way I dropped that accent, stopped eating red meat, and have no desire to touch a gun again in my life if I can help it. (Sorry Dad) Yesterday, two people accused me (jokingly of course) of not truly being a Texan. It hurt. They aren’t the only ones who’ve made that accusation. One was because I no longer had an accent, and the other was because I hinted at the fact that I didn’t want my little boys playing with guns. “How Texan are you?” the accuser joked.

Had I forgotten my roots? Does my Dad want to disown me because I don’t eat red meat? Both questions I’ve asked myself.

But, the truth is, I haven’t forgotten. And, just because my accent has forgotten a little, doesn’t mean my heart has.

You see, despite the horrible humidity that turns me into a crazy person, I think of Texas, and all the people I love that are in it, and I can’t help but think that my heart will always be there to some extent. It doesn’t matter if I don’t ever say “fixin’ to” again, or if I never eat a steak, Texas is a part of me, and always will be.

I feel sad sometimes that my kids won’t know a “real” thunderstorm, or may never learn how to bait their own hook with a live cricket all for the joy of fishing. They may not ever catch fireflies either. But, their memories will be just as good. They will grow up skiing, and snow-shoeing, and roasting marshmallows in the canyons at night. They will also never have to suffer through an August in Texas. They will think those giant mountains, that I never could take for granted, are just what everyone sees out their bedroom window, and they will one day be shocked to learn that in some places, it doesn’t snow.

Part of me feels guilty, for not being “Texan” enough. But, that’s just silly. I’m who I am because I grew up in TX, and that will never leave me. Even if the accent does.

I will always believe that Texas has the best mexican food around, and pine trees are beautiful, and you haven’t really lived until you’ve tried Blue Bell ice cream. I will always miss hearing my Grandma say, “Over yonder” and will wish I could sit and play spades with my other Grandma like we used to every Sunday. I won’t regret wearing a mum in high school, even though now I know they really are kind of ridiculous. Although, I do love a good tradition.

And, I will always always miss the southern hospitality that I have yet to find anywhere else. It’s called manners, people.

But, I’ve realized that I don’t need to move back to Texas to find the girl I once was. She’ll always be here. My husband makes fun of my accent every once in a while when I get really excited about something. So, she’s still in there. Don’t y’all worry your pretty little heads one bit. Because I don’t.