Call Me Tex

When I was just a teenage lad, and growing up out west I never wore a cowboy hat or fancy leather vests, never put on cowboy boots or western shirts with snaps, never wore tooled leather belts, much less a pair of chaps. To be in style the Ivy League was what one wore to school. A skinny tie and button-down was how you dressed up cool. We wore Weejun penny loafers and tapered chino slacks. The boys all sported flattops, kept up straight with wax. Rock and roll and sock hops, my dance was then the twist. Cotton-eyed Joe and two-step didn't even make the list. Good ol' Willie Nelson could hardly make a sound, 'cause the King and Frank Sinatra were the coolest cats around. But when I joined the service, and moved outside the state, it didn't matter where I went or if I said my name out straight. I thought I must have had an omnipresent hex, 'cause when I was out of Texas, they'd always call me Tex. When I said over yonder, they'd all say “Over... Where?” When I talked about a horny toad, I'd get a funny stare. It didn't matter if my name was Buck or Roy or Rex, 'cause when I was out of Texas, they'd always call me Tex. When they shipped me overseas, I thought that I would die! Couldn't get a Dr. Pepper there, or any Frito pie. When I wanted longneck Lone Stars, all they had was Beck's and all those Europeans would always call me Tex. Any label kind of burned me, so right then I made the call. I'd learn to talk just like those guys, to hide my Texas drawl. I practiced on my diction, with elocution persevered, and soon the sideways looks and grins had all but disappeared. I traveled all around the world, got married overseas. Learned myself a few more tongues and got a few degrees. Now if I talk to British lords or European Czechs, when I masticate the lingo, they never call me Tex. Finally made it home one day, after way too many years. Came back to see old pals and maybe share some beers. I wondered how the touch of time had treated all those lads. To my surprise, those preppy guys had all turned into their dads. Each one wore a cowboy hat and dandy leather vest, some sported a bandana, some with bola ties were dressed. Some shod those M.L. Leddy boots with fancy pull-on straps, each had a set of bootcut jeans and western shirts with snaps. Something then came over me, something that felt right. I heard my voice inside me say "Well boys, ain't y'all a sight!” That educated accent that I'd worked so hard to gain, had evaporated quicker than a light West Texas rain. I guess that you can travel, and learn lots of fancy stuff, but with friends who knew you when, there's no way that you can bluff. They might be polite with you, and humor you no doubt, but you're better off to cut it loose and let it all hang out. They all let out a holler, yelling “Waitress bring the checks! Give 'em to that ugly hombre yonder with the handle Tex.” Now if I were any other place, I'd likely wring their necks, but when I'm home in Texas, then you can call me Tex.