I Am That Child

To write one's story is ultimately a self-centered thing. As images of my life wisp about me now, I know it's me who really longs to understand their significance. How did they bring me here today, to this internet cafe with my laptop and my caramel latte? With the painted daisies and the little girl who just smiled at me? With the rain outside and Whitney Houston singing about her longing to dance with someone?

Me too, girlfriend.

Well, I suppose it doesn't have to be self-centered. I could tell you my story because I want to teach some lessons or because I want to show you how faithful God is...

So, to those who pass here, if you learn then may you be blessed by it. If you see God, may you be drawn to love. But I won't pull any punches and I won't gloss it over. I'm writing this to tell myself the story. When I am finished, I will sit back and wonder what happens next.

How long until the next release? Oh, you're kidding! I hate waiting! I wanna know what happens next!

My Parents

My mother was born and raised in LaVaca County in Texas. I once found a book that charted immigrant concentrations in the United States. One page would say "Polish" and then beneath it would be map of the United States with counties colored and coded for Polish concentrations. The next page would say "French" and so forth. LaVaca County is the third largest concentration (per capita) of Bohemian Czechs in the United States. My mother's family was Bohemian - half by lineage and the other half (German) by acculturation.

Do you know what Kolochies are? Cheese Kolochies will make you cry. And the sausage in LaVaca county will make you...well, if you're not careful it will make the inhabitant of an early grave.

The other influence in LaVaca County is, of course, Mexican. There is plenty of Mexican blood in my family now, though I personally didn't get any of it (damn!).

When you think of my mom, think colors. Her heritage is colorful. At her best, she is colorful and her death is being colorless. Though out my childhood, she painted. Oil on canvas was her formal medium, but she loved charcoal and chalk as well. When I see her charcoal and chalk drawings of me as a little girl, how can I doubt that I wasn't the most loved child on the planet? And that is how she is at her best - someone who touches her world and leaves it more beautiful than it was before she came.

My father is what blue-state elitists fear the most - uncultured and unconcerned about it. He's poor white trash, a backwater hillbilly country boy who loves God and country and apple - no wait - pumpkin pie. His heritage is a little less clear, but beyond a doubt, there are high doses of what is today the United Kingdom. I don't know if it's English, Scottish or Irish. I'm not sure and am somewhat unconcerned - though I recognize that this is a hanging offence in the UK. Another certain piece of his heritage is American Indian. Regardless, the influences of these different cultures had become swirled into one worldview by the time my Dad was born and essentially, if you want to understand my Dad, you have to understand Northeast Texas. And you have to understand how my Dad plants his feet there and refuses to budge even as he is called to places all over the country as perhaps the top engineer in his field in the US.

Northeast Texas is not wide open plains. It is thick woods with thicker underbrush. It is the home of deep, wide muddy rivers and bands of wild horses and wilder hogs. If you ever meet either group, pray they have no young ones with them or that you truck is unlocked and two feet away. To die by wild boar is not something enviable and it happens. There are also "big cats" that live there. Even today, there is a "big cat" (mountain lion, panther?) that lives in the woods of my dad's house. My dad has seen him. The tracks this cat leaves reveals paws larger than my dad's hands.

That's pretty damn big.

The people of Northeast Texas had their oil boom and they continue to farm and ranch - though to do this, they have to clear large swathes of land. A view from the roads reveals acres of pasture land dotted with brown and white cattle and hedged in behind by the beginning of the woods.

They rodeo in Northeast Texas. Tobacco is your friend, but only the bad boys drink. Everyone's Baptist and anyone who isn't, is suspect. Methodists, Catholics and Hindus are all on the same level - the group of people who probably won't make it to heaven. The women are beautiful and never go without make-up and the most beautiful women are the ones who rodeo too...while wearing make-up.

My dad managed to not piss off too many of his teachers and made it to graduation. After graduating, he thanked God that he'd never have to go to school anymore and went off to work for power companies. Before long, he was running the show. Though his teachers would never have believed it, my dad was brilliant. So brilliant in fact, that General Electric hired him as an engineer though he'd never been to college.

And so it was, that these two people got married and after seven years they had a child.

I am that child.

posted by Headless-in-GR @ 1/04/2005 04:03:00 PM

 

Comments:

I am so glad I can leave a comment! I discovered your blog after you commented on mine (thank you very much!) and I love your writing style! I will be back often to read.

And Whataburger! Oooohhh... I am reading this right before lunch and I mourn the fact that the nearest Whataburger is 45 miles from here.

# by:  spookyrach : 12:47 PM

 

Whataburger...groan...must have...

Hey Janet - I meant to tell you that I know the winding road with the stone wall going to...oh, where were you going? La Grange? My mom is from Halletsville, which is about 30-45 minutes from La Grange.

# by:  Headless-in-GR : 2:27 PM

 

GREAT you are telling YOUR StOREEE!!
I'm so geeked.
And a great start it is.... will wait like the cat, having eaten some cheese waits for the mouse with baited breath!

# by:  Captainwow : 8:53 PM

 

Holy Moly. To think I've eaten the hands that are as large as a wildcat's paws. And at a Boston Market, no less!

What a beautiful picture of your family. Don't lose this. Print it out and put it in a sacred place. You've honored your family history as few ever will.

# by:  Pat : 6:15 PM

 

Okay, I meant "eaten ACROSS THE TABLE from the hands," not eaten them. :-/

# by:  Pat : 7:18 AM

 

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