Educating Nankin

I'm beginning to think I lead the world's dullest life. I get up, go to work, go home, fix dinner, go to bed...then do it all over again the next day. My kids have seen more of Texas than I have since moving here from Illinois. They got to take field trips in school while I went to work.

Speaking of Texas...I was raised in California (yeah, an honest to God prune picker) but both my parents were born and raised Texans. Mom was from Kemp and Daddy grew up in Kaufman. I'm sure no one has ever heard of these great meccas of humanity, but they really do exist. Anyway, back to my point. The first time I can consciously remember visiting our relatives in Texas was when I was about eight. I actually thought we were going to see real live, gun toting cowboys and Indians, horses at the hitching rail, and the Longbranch Saloon from Gunsmoke. (But maybe that was supposed to be Kansas).

The only Indian we saw (well actually heard) was somewhere in New Mexico where we stayed the night. My sister, cousin and I had one room in the motel while Mom and Daddy were right next door. About two AM, we heard this caterwauling beneath the bathroom window. Scared the pee out of us three girls. The next morning the motel manager informed us it was a brave from the Indian reservation that had gotten hold of too much fire water.

Daddy's idea of a vacation was to pile in the car and drive like hell for twelve to fourteen hours a day, so we didn't see much of the passing country. I've been past the Grand Canyon too many times to count. We were always very careful not to take too much time in the restroom whenever he stopped for gas. We didn't want to get left behind if Daddy was ready to go and we weren't.

Our next big shock upon arriving in Texas...it was no different than California. They had sidewalks, sky scrapers and traffic jams just like we did. I cried because there were no horses on the street, no cowboys, and no Indians (sober or otherwise). What a let down!

We spent our first night in Dallas at our grandmother's house. She made a point of telling us that if we saw a scorpion, we should call her. My sister and I had no idea what a scorpion was, but when we headed to bed and there was a large bug on the wall in our room, we dutifully called Granny just like she told us to.

Dear, sweet Granny came running with an even larger hammer. We showed her the bug and she proceeded to smash it with a powerful blow from her trusty weapon of choice without a single word. Yes, it was a scorpion, but she didn't have to put a hole in the wall to kill it.

We learned about Blue Northers that Christmas, too. What's a Blue Norther? They're just like the Santa Ana winds in California, except they are cold. A Santa Ana wind is hot enough to burn your skin and blows for days and days. What made the Blue Norther so bad was that the foundation to Granny's house was nothing more than a few cinder blocks stacked at strategic points. Not only did the house shake with every gust of wind, but it was not airtight in anyone's imagination. No wonder the scorpions could get in the house.

A few days later, we went to see my grandfather in Kaufman. They had a new courthouse, so Grandad wanted to brag about it. He took us for a tour which was all warm and fuzzy until I wanted a drink. In my innocence, I go bopping up to the nearest water fountain. Next thing I knew, Mom grabs me by the shoulder and says, "Not that one." Dummy me, I ask why not. She pointed to a sign over the fountain that said, "BLACKS ONLY".

I still didn't get it until she pointed to the other fountain where the sign read, "WHITES ONLY!". That's where my education in prejudice began. I was shocked, bewildered, dumbfounded and unbelieving. To give Mom and Daddy credit, at least they didn't teach discrimination in spite of their Southern upbringing.

It wasn't until years later that I realized that their prejudice lay barely below the skin even if they didn't teach it.

And here I thought I had nothing to say when I sat down at the computer. Oh well.