Tennessee for the Smoky Mountains & Gatlinburg

ABOUT TEXAS.....
Hope you are ready for this

what it means to me to be a
Texan. My friends know it means about damned near everything. Anyway,
this fella' asked me to reprint what I'd wrote and I didn't have it. So
I set out to think about rewriting something. I considered writing about
all the great things I love about Texas . There are way too many things
to list. I can't even begin to do it justice. Lemme' let you in on my
short list.

It starts with The Window at Big Bend , which in and of itself is proof
of God. It goes to Lake Sam Rayburn where my Granddad taught me more
about life than fishin', and enough about fishin' to last a lifetime. I
can talk about Tyler and Longview and Odessa and Cisco and Abilene and
Poteet and every place in between. Every little part of Texas feels
special. Every person who ever flew over the Lone Star thinks of Bandera
or Victoria or Manor or wherever they call "home" as the best little
part of the best state.

So I got to thinking about it, and here's what I really want to say.
Last year, I talked about all the great places and great heroes who make
Texas what it is.

I talked about Willie and Waylon and Michael Dell and Michael DeBakey
and my Dad and LBJ and Denton Cooley. I talked about everybody that came
to mind. It took me sitting here tonight reading this stack of emails
and thinkin' about where I've been and what I've done since the last
time I wrote on this occasion to remind me what it is about Texas that
is really great.

You see, this last month or so I finally went to Europe for the first
time. I hadn't ever been, and didn't too much want to. But you know all
my damned friends are always talking about "the time they went to Europe
." So, I finally went. It was a hell of a trip to be sure. All they did
when they saw me was say the same thing, before they'd ever met me. "Hey
cowboy, we love Texas ." I guess the hat tipped 'em off. But let me tell
you what, they all came up with a smile on their faces. You know why?
They knew for damned sure that I was gonna' be nice to 'em. They knew it
'cause they knew I was from Texas . They knew something that hadn't even
hit me. They knew Texans, even though they'd never met one.

That's when it occurred to me. Do you know what is great about Texas ?

Do you know why when my friend Beverly and I were trekking across
country to see 15 baseball games we got sick and had to come home after
8? Do you know why every time I cross the border I say, "Lord, please
don't let me die in ______"?

Do you know why children in Japan can look at a picture of the great
State and know exactly what it is about the same time they can tell a
rhombus from a trapezoid? I can tell you that right quick. You. The
same spirit that made 186 men cross that line in the sand in San Antonio
damned near 165 years ago is still in you today. Why else would my
friend send me William Barrett Travis' plea for help in an email just a
week ago, or why would Charles Stenciled ask me to reprint a Texas
Independence column from a year ago?

What would make my friend Elizabeth say, "I don't know if I can marry a
man who doesn't love Texas like I do?" Why in the hell are 1,000 people
coming to my house this weekend to celebrate a holiday for what used to
be a nation that is now a state? Because the spirit that made that
nation is the spirit that burned in every person who founded this great
place we call Texas, and they passed it on through blood or sweat to
every one of us.

You see, that spirit that made Texas what it is, is alive in all of us,
even if we can't stand next to a cannon to prove it, and it's our
responsibility to keep that fire burning. Every person who ever put a
"Native Texan" or an "I wasn't born in Texas but I got here as fast as I
could" sticker on his car understands. Anyone who ever hung a map of
Texas on their wall or flew a Lone Star flag on their porch knows what I
mean.

My Dad's buddy Bill has an old saying. He says that some people were
forged of a hotter fire. Well, that's what it is to be Texan. To be
forged of a hotter fire.

To know that part of Colorado was Texas. That part of New Mexico was
Texas. That part of Oklahoma was Texas . Yep. Talk all you want. Part of
what you got was what we gave you. To look at a picture of Idaho or
Istanbul and say, "what the Hell is that?" when you know that anyone in
Idaho or Istanbul who sees a picture of Texas knows damned good and well
what it is. It isn't the shape, it isn't the state, it's the state of
mind. You're what makes Texas .

The fact that you would take 15 minutes out of your day to read this,
because that's what Texas means to you, that's what makes Texas what it
is. The fact that when you see the guy in front of you litter you honk
and think,"Sona*****. Littering on MY highway."

When was the last time you went to a person's house in New York and you
saw a big map of New York on their wall? Never. When did you ever drive
through Oklahoma and see their flag waving on four businesses in a row?
Can you even tell me what the flag in Louisiana looks like? I damned
sure can't.

But I bet my ass you can't drive 20 minutes from your house and not see
a business that has a big Texas flag as part of its logo. If you haven't
done business with someone called All Tex something or Lone Star
somebody or other, or Texas such and such, you hadn't lived here for too
long.



When you ask a man from New York what he is, he'll say a stockbroker, or
an accountant, or an ad exec. When you ask a woman from California what
she is, she'll tell you her last name or her major. He'll either of 'em
might say "I'm a republican," or they might be a democrat. When you ask
a Texan what they are, before they say, "I'm a Methodist," or "I'm a
lawyer," or "I'm a Smith," they tell you they're a Texan. I got nothin'
against all those other places, and Lord knows they've probably got some
fine folks, but in your gut you know it just like I do, Texas is just a
little different.



So tomorrow when you drive down the road and you see a person broken
down on the side of the road, stop and help. When you are in a bar in
California, buy a Californian a drink and tell him it's for Texas
Independence Day. Remind the person in the cube next to you that he
wouldn't be here enjoying this if it weren't for Sam Houston, and if he
or she doesn't know the story, tell them!



When William Barrett Travis wrote in 1836 that he would never surrender
and he would have Victory or Death, what he was really saying was that
he and his men were forged of a hotter fire. They weren't your average
everyday men.



Well, that is what it means to be a Texan. It meant it then, and that's
why it means it today. It means just what all those people north of the
Red River accuse us of thinking it means. It means there's no mountain
that we can't climb. It means that we can swim the Gulf in the winter.
It means that Earl Campbell ran harder and Houston is bigger and Dallas
is richer and Alpine is hotter and Stevie Ray was smoother and God
vacations in Texas .



It means that come Hell or high water, when the chips are down and the
Good Lord is watching, we're Texans by damned, and just like in 1836,
that counts for something. So for today at least, when your chance comes
around, go out and prove it. It's true because we believe it's true. If
you are sitting wondering what the Hell I'm talking about, this ain't
for you.



But if the first thing you are going to do when the Good Lord calls your
number is find the men who sat in that tiny mission in San Antonio and
shake their hands, then you're the reason I wrote this tonight, and this
is for you. So until next time you hear from me, God Bless and Happy
Texas Independence Day.