You know. My family has been in Texas since the days of the Republic. I love Texas. I tried to leave, but I was miserable the whole time I was up at that fancy Ivy League university because I missed Texas so much. I love two-stepping at Gruene Hall, tubing on the Comal in the hottest part of the summer, and listening to live music under the stars in Austin. I love the unbelievably clear water on the Guadalupe between Ingram and Hunt. I love the view from the old, abandoned farmhouse on our family's land in the Panhandle, just where the flat farmland ends and the canyoned ranchland opens up at your feet. I love the site of miles and miles and miles and miles of cotton fields on the South Plains where I was born. I love Friday night football and Saturday games at Darell K. Royal Texas Memorial Stadium. I love the rolling fields of bluebonnets out near Independence in April. I love the old campus at Baylor and the Ransom Center at UT. I love that we have our own music and our own Dr. Pepper and our own national cuisine. I love the starry night sky over Big Bend, and paddling up the Santa Elena Canyon and the way the light hits the Chisos Mountains in the late afternoon. Heck, I even love Lubbock and its crazy mix of religion and boredom that spawns so much great music.
I want to spend my life here, and I want my children to have the very strong sense that they are from Texas. But sometimes there are things that make me ashamed of my fellow Texans. Like the fact that 76% of the vote went for Prop 2. Or that the citizens of White Settlement don't seem to have a problem with their town's name.
One day, this is going to be looked back upon as a shameful day in Texas' history. Why we have to discriminate against people just becuase they are different from us is beyond me. Why my friends can't get the Texas marriage certificate that I can one day get just because they're "not right" according to someone's narrow interpretation of Scripture is beyond me.