Near Texas Encounters: I

I think all my life I was being prepared to finally end up in Texas.

I was born in Wyoming, and lived in various small towns until I was about 3. That's not saying much. All towns in Wyoming are small. Most people in Wyoming are white. Wyoming is white, bland, and empty. Not much happens in Wyoming. It's big, a slow, cold, and not one really thinks of it until they're stuck in snow while driving through it, then they remember it for a lifetime as "The time I froze my butt off changing a tire/had to pee like crazy/snow chains, etc. I love Wyoming. Even though I moved around lots growing up, and did not live there the majority of my life I will always consider that lonely, windy state my home. My parents claim Wyoming. Both are UW graduates, and proud of it. They raised me with Wyoming-isms, such as "pop" and a slight prejudice towards all things Utah (mostly because BYU and UW are big rivals) and all things Texas (I think because they think they're the most "cowboy" state in the union... neglecting Wyoming's contribution to the cattle drives DOWN to Texas) And of course UW's mascot, The Cowboy's.

After living in Wyoming we moved to Tucson, Arizona. We moved in with my grandparents for a little bit, while my dad went to school again. I remember the first winter there it snowed. Four year old me was so excited watching the flakes come down and land in Nanny's backyard. Until ten minutes later, it stopped. Nanny took me out to make a snowman with her. She had to get a shovel to scrape the miniscule amount of snow off the ground, and when we finished, the shrimpy guy didn't have enough head for any amount of face. I cried pretty hard.


Right before second grade I experienced my first Near Texas Encounter as we moved from Tucson to Hobbs, NM.

Hobbs is about 8 miles from the Texas border. And it is UGLY. It's dusty, dry, no mountains, very few trees, and the view from a car window to a 7 year old girl consists of weird dinosaur things that go up and down (oil wells). Once we settled in, and before school started, my parents had a family home evening, with hopes to prepare me for the strange accents, and new customs they knew I would experience on the first day of school. My dad told me;

 "Here, adults expect you to say 'Yes, Sir and 'No, Sir' and 'Yes Ma'am' and 'No Ma'am'. I haven't raised you that way, call me 'Dad', but when another adult, like your teacher, tells you something, you are to reply with 'Yes, Sir' or 'Yes, Ma'am'. It's polite."

I took his words to heart, and I did try, but the words felt strange on my tongue, and I felt like I was lying, or in trouble every time I said 'Sir' or 'Ma'am'. I never got the hang of it, a few teachers corrected me on the matter, but most of them probably just thought I was the terrible ruffian child who replied nonchalantly with 'Okay'. Oh well.

Most people had a bit of a Texan drawl, but I got used to it. I got used to the different idioms, and words such as 'ya'll', 'fixin' to', 'big ol' and 'grab a bite to eat' These were things my family didn't say, and eventually they snuck into my own vocabulary. In fourth grade, my teacher sent home a note to parents with 'fixin' to' typed in the note. My English major mother sent a note to Mr. Ware, reprimanding him for using poor grammar.

After being in second grade for a few months, we went on a field trip to the county fair. We spent the day looking at cows, sheep, pigs, horses, and the art, and quilting projects. Towards the end of our trip, my teacher observed a bunch of tired, thirsty second graders.

"Who wants a coke?" She generously announced

"I do! I do! Yay!!" Were the collective responses of my class.

Except me. I didn't drink Coca-Cola. My family didn't drink Coca-Cola, and I had been taught it wasn't something I was allowed to have. I panicked.

Somehow, someone noticed my distress, and asked me what was wrong.

"I'm not allowed to drink Coke." I sniveled.

"Well, I'm sure the vendor has water, we'll ask, it's ok." They assured me.

I was led up to the counter, where before my savior had a chance to explain, the vendor bellowed,

"What kinda Coke do you want?"

Kind? I didn't know there were different KINDS of Coca-Cola. Maybe I could have a different kind... I didn't just want water, when everyone else had a sugary, bubbly drink!

"What kinds are there?" I asked

"The usual kinds of Coke!" He said incredulously, "Sprite, Root beer, 7up..."

I stared. Sprite wasn't Coca-Cola.

The person helping me asked me if I would like a Sprite. I nodded, slightly confused, but happy, and downed my Sprite in a heartbeat, then went to join my friends who were talking about the different kinds of "Coke" They got. There I learned the biggest culture change of my Wyoming upbringing to Near Texas Encounter. 'Coke' is 'Pop'. Not Coca-Cola.