Is Cinco de Mayo some kind of Mexican Sandwich?

                                                         

      If the number of people moving into Texas keeps rising, will Texas be able to pass on the Texas State of Mind?  That is the question asked by Robyn, a friend of mine who worries about such things.  Robyn grew up in California, and loves that state, but she has always been intrigued by the deep sense of pride and unwavering loyalty to homeland that defines Texans.

     She first noticed this phenomenon as a teenager when exposed to Texas children in California schools.  In the 1940s, southern families came to California in droves, forced by the Depression and the Dust Bowl to relocate or starve.  Some children, those from Oklahoma, Arkansas, and other beleaguered southern states, began to assimilate the culture of California, and adjust to their surroundings.  Not so the Texans.  They had no desire to adjust to this foreign country.  They incessantly griped about the weather, the scenery, the way people talked.  They constantly compared everything to Texas, and everything came up short.  They were slow-talking, loud-mouthed, uncouth little disciples from the land of the Rio Grande, and were going back there as soon as circumstances permitted. 

     My friend Robyn, and most everyone else in California, soon became tired of the obnoxious visitors, but she couldn’t help but wonder about a land that marked its people so deeply.  Now, as a Texas resident, she sees this unnatural pride of place, deep reverence for local history, and unjustifiable loyalty from a new perspective—and she sees it up close and personal.

      Her Texas friends and neighbors make statements like, “The best cantaloupes in the world come from Pecos, Texas.” "Everybody knows the Cowboys are the best team in football, except for the Texans.”  “The Texas Hill Country has the sweetest water on God’s green earth.”  “They grow more cotton in Lubbock County than they do in Egypt.” “Ain’t no watermelons as good as the ones from Luling, Texas.”  “Texas ought to secede from the Union—let them yankees freeze in the dark.” “Did you know the hamburger was invented in Athens, Texas?” “All the helium in the United States comes from some wells up by Amarillo.” “The best looking women in the world come from Dallas.”

     Texans make these statements in a matter-of-fact tone, leaving no room for discussion.  Robyn realizes, after years of conditioning, that Texans are not purposely being rude, they truly do not recognize any other point of view.  These “facts,” and many others, are ingrained into Texans from birth.  Texans know they are true—no sense arguing about it.

     The short answer to Robyn’s question—with the population increase, will Texans be able to pass on their state of mind—is no.  In my lifetime, the Texan mindset has eroded dramatically and will continue to do so.  The great leveling influence, forced by the passage of time and the influx of people, will slowly work to homogenize Texans into the same bland beings that inhabit the rest of our country.  As with other current trends, seemingly logical and just actions have unforseen consequences.

    Individualism, the very rock of the Texas spirit, is actively discouraged in today's world.  Individuals are viewed as selfish, greedy, and not to be trusted.  The popular view holds that individuals create and hoard vast resources and refuse to share with a needy public.  The public is needy through no fault of its own—it was not given the opportunity to accumulate a fortune at the expense of others.  Even if it had been, it was far too noble to have done so.

      Consider the spoken word.  Texans’ unique accents and mannerisms are disappearing.  College students, especially coeds, spend hours practicing enunciation to get rid of their drawls.  A “Texas Drawl” is considered a liability in the business world and seems to be forbidden in the entertainment industry.  Actors like Sam Elliot are allowed to keep their natural accents, and they are type-cast to emphasize their speech patterns, often for comic relief or ridicule.

     As with so many facets of our existence, our country—the United States, not Texas—puts a high value on diversity, then exerts every effort to suppress it.  For an example, look at television news.  More and more women, and blacks, and Hispanics, and even a few token Arabs are broadcasting the evening news, but they all sound as if they had the same speech coach.  Women are welcomed, so long as they have fantastic legs and are willing to display them in impossibly short skirts.  They cannot get comfortable, knowing that the slightest movement will expose their assets.  Even the weather girl needs a boob job to get out of the sticks and onto the network.  We are encouraged to diversify as much as we want, so long as we conform.

     In my lifetime, I have watched colorful parades and lavish celebrations of San Jacinto Day dwindle to a scant mention in the back pages of the newspaper.  More people in Houston, and the rest of Texas, celebrate Cinco de Mayo than Texas Independence Day.  I was grown before I learned Cinco de Mayo was not some kind of Mexican sandwich.  The more diversified we are, the more people who crowd in to take our jobs, the less important our heritage becomes. 

     A few of us are working to keep that heritage strong, focusing on old-time values, reminding others of the great history of this state, and instilling Texas pride in our young people.  We are moderately effective, but people are indifferent, and the tide is turning. My son is a true Texan, but he lives in Colorado, where his son will grow up talking funny.  My daughter has a fervent faith in all things Texan, but her children’s eyes glaze over when I start to tell about how Cap'n Jack Hays and the Texas Rangers once fought the Comanche in our little valley. 

     I will keep spreading the word, and I will keep losing ground.  The Texas that I once knew--flamboyant oilmen,  frugal ranchers,  gritty promoters,  optimistic farmers--still exists, but is fading fast.  Ambition is viewed as a character flaw.   Courage, ethics, fortitude, and determination are laughed at by lawyers and spin doctors who know that image is everything, and reality is contrived to fit the situation. 
     No, Robyn, we won’t be able to pass on our heritage, our spirit, our love of this place.  That will all die—but it will die hard, and I will be lucky.  I will die first.