Southern Roots Go Deep

Fun Fact: I was apparently conceived in Georgia... but raised in Texas.  Well, I say raised.  I was raised in Texas until I was 13.  Then the oil industry took a major hit and my parents had to move in order to provide for themselves and their three kids. 

“Culture shock” is a mild term to describe what I experienced as a young teen.  Conservative, small Houston suburb to liberal Marina District in San Francisco… whuuutttt the…?   (insert  stereotypical hayfork dumbfounded look with head scratch here)

Warning! Warning!  Trauma memories beginning to resurface.  I. Must. Repress.

Ahhh, Texas.  Yes, please.  Bluebonnets and BBQ. Cowboy hats and country music.  Learning The Cotton-Eyed Joe and Two Step during church lock-ins (that really happened).  And … sports.  Wait.  Did I say sports?  I meant football.  Specifically Blue Football.

Back in the day, Houston Oilers fans created mass hysteria- whooo baby… none like before or since.  Hysteria as big as Texas (sorry, I had to). Yeeeaaaah, I was there.  Love, love ya, Blue, you know that we do, we’ll always be true, cuz wee-ee-ee-eeee. (clap, clap, clap) Love. Ya. Blue.  I get goosebumps now just thinking about it: The entire stadium rallied arounur sports heroes, singing in unison, collective voluntary madness.  Egocentricism at its frenzied best.   Not a care in the world - except who would win the game, of course.  5,6,7,8 We’re the best from the Lone Star State! Foam finger, a jersey and a hot dog.  Childhood bliss.

Ahhhh, memories.