Hello Friends of the Garden!
I’m not a native Californian. I’m not even a native Texan
despite spending the greater portion of my formative years there. I was born
eight years after Tom Petty in the same hospital in Gainesville, Florida. I’m
the first born of three with a brother and younger sister. My father was
disappointed that I wasn’t born in his home state of Texas like my brother and
sister were. Not so much so that he was openly mean about it. It just didn’t go
the way he wanted.
It’s funny how it became a “dirty little secret”, an
unmentionable fact, that my birth took place in Florida. It certainly wasn’t a
plan by my parents that I was born there, it just happened that way. For some
reason the place of my birth was of great significance to my father. He never said anything in a derogatory way
regarding the place of my birth. He was always proud of every other aspect of
me, his first-born son, with the site of my birth as the only blemish.
My earliest memories were all about Texas. We never really
talked about me not being a natural Texan. I always knew that I wasn’t! We
moved a lot and we were always filling out forms of one sort or another for
schools and the dreaded “Birth Place” blank would cement the origin of my
existence!
I learned to be the Texan that my Dad wanted. It’s hard not
to! Most language experts will tell you that “immersion” into a different
culture with a different language is the best way to acquire another language.
Immersed from near birth, I assimilated seamlessly. Just like other states,
Texas has its’ history and I learned it in grade school. On trips to my
Grandma’s house in South Texas I learned how big Texas truly is. We would pile
in to the car and drive for hours and hours (seven) to her house.
I remember when we moved to Rochester, New York during my
senior year of high school. I was seriously made fun of in school for all my
acquired cultural attributes. My clothes, my accent, the words I chose were all
as out of place as I was. It was kind of lonely really. The oddest part of the
whole thing was that they believed I was a Texan! I knew I wasn’t! They even
nicknamed me “Tex”! Suddenly being a Texan was a source of ridicule. I had just
gotten good enough to be a believable Texan! Talk about being an outsider! I
wasn’t even really a part of the group being disparaged and I wasn’t even
accepted by other Texans!
Now I’m a “naturalized” Californian. Not that my friends
would necessarily agree. I have lived in my house in Fresno longer than I have
lived anywhere in my entire life. Despite the static nature of my latter years,
my status as an outsider has never left me. It lingers deep within me with
little subtle reminders from time to time. It feels like I’ve spent my entire
life trying to fit in!
I have made some strides to embrace the amalgam of my
experiences and influences. I have made a conscious effort to try to see how I
fit in and what I can do. I can use that variety of culture and climate to my
advantage to give me a perspective that would be impossible for many here and
elsewhere! When my Mom (also not a Texan, born in South Carolina) told me I was
special I never thought it would take so long to accept the notion that I was!
It’s not too late to do something good with it!
Peace and love to you all!
Mike
