Native Texans call transplanted Texans – naturalized

By Janna Lewis, Sentinel Staff
February 5, 2009

Not just anybody’s a Texan.

You must be born here to be considered “native.” If you grew up in Texas but were born elsewhere, you’re “naturalized.” You can’t just pick up a Texas driver’s license and call yourself a Texan. You’re turning red there, my friend. Take a deep breath and count backwards from ten. I’m not insulting you; I’m just ‘splainin’ things as we Texans understand them.

John Steinbeck wrote about Texas and Texans in his 1962 book, Travels with Charley. Steinbeck said, “Texas is a state of mind. Texas is an obsession. Above all, Texas is a nation in every sense of the word. ...A Texan outside of Texas is a foreigner.” Steinbeck proved himself worthy of that Nobel prize for literature upon writing that little bit of prose. He perfectly summed up how we Texans feel about our state and ourselves. Of course, he had an edge. He was married to a Texan, Elaine Anderson Scott. He lived in “Texas” regardless of where he and his Family traveled. As he said himself, he could not escape it even if he had wanted to.

Steinbeck’s right. Texas is a nation in every sense of the word. We were a republic before we were a state, and we’ve never forgotten it. What’s more, we don’t let anyone else forget it, either, which has earned us a reputation for being just a little bit obnoxious. We don’t mean to be that way; we’re just proud of who we are and from whence we came.

To be a Texan, one must be born here. It doesn’t matter which town or county, just so long as a person drew his or her first breath somewhere within the state lines. It doesn’t matter which side of the Family tree from which you trace your Texas heritage, just so long as you got a long, ol’ line from somebody. My mother was born in Kansas City, Mo. but her father was born in East Texas, so my “Texan-ness” from my maternal line only skips one generation; barely a blip on the great cosmic radar scope of the Texas universe. Besides that, Mama grew up in Texas. She talks a good “I was born in the Mid-West” game, but get her dander up over something about which she’s passionate and she’ll put you in your place in grand, Lone Star state style. By the way, my mother is the queen of the razor-sharp one-liners. I try never to argue with her. I lose every time.

Naturalization is a lengthy process. It helps if you transplant here early or have an open mind. My fella, Frank, was born and raised in Baltimore, Md. After more than 22 years in the Army, he chose to retire here. His first tastes of Texas were via El Paso and San Antonio. Having originated south of the Mason-Dixon Line, he has come to Texas at an advantage: he understands the Southern spin on life and all things Southern. But, bless his heart, he can’t stand Tex-Mex cuisine and I don’t think he ever will be able to. He does, however, like my chili. Here, folks, is progress in the naturalization process: Frank found something he liked about the state and has opted to stay.

I have not, however, shown Frank East Texas yet. I may have to blindfold him first so he doesn’t run screaming. East Texas is…well, it defies explanation. It’s like something out of the movie, Deliverance, but more frightening. I should know. I grew up there. A while back I saw a bumper sticker in the III Corps parking lot that showed two people in a canoe, rowing. The caption read: “Paddle faster, I hear banjos.” My first thought? “Hey, they’ve been to my hometown!” Frank’s introduction to East Texas may have to wait a few years.

I like “naturalized” Texans. They bring something fresh and new to our great state. Without them, we would not have Seattle-based coffee shops, cilantro, blue crabs and Cajun food restaurants all over our state. We have pierogies in the grocery stores now, which is good news for naturalized Texans from Pittsburgh.

We’ve got a case of hippies, too. We tried spraying for those. It didn’t work. Thus, we have Austin.

Naturalization is in the mind of the beholder. You have to want to be a Texan for it to work. If you fight your assimilation, you will be miserable. For the Star Trek fans reading this column, yes, we’re kinda like the Borg Collective. It’s a hive-mind with cowboy boots: “We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. DeeeeOOOOooohhhh!!!”

That being said, come on and get your Texas citizenship. Raise your right hand and recite the Texas Oath of Naturalization: “I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign football team, university, barbecue sauce, jalapeno pepper, boot maker or pickup truck of whom or which I have heretofore been a fan or a consumer; that I will support and defend the Texas way of life and the customs of its citizens against all anti-Texans, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will bear arms every hunting season against feral hogs on behalf of Texas; that I will perform acts of chili-preparation greatness; and that I take this obligation freely without any reservation because great barbecue joints don’t require them; so help me y’all.”

Congratulations. You’re now a Texan.