“Playing Cowboy”
During the early 1990’s, my buddy Troy and I liked to play cowboy. No, not like “cowboys and Indians” but going down to my Dad’s south Texas ranches and helping him out… like cowboys. This was fun for Troy and me. My mother would feed us very well, and my Dad made sure we both had something to drink and something to talk about. During this time we made a number of trips to south Texas. We hunted sometimes, and other times we hung around with my Dad.
I’m reminded of one May weekend in particular because I still have the scars. It was hot! It was 105 degrees worth of dry, dusty, beating down on your head, type of hot, when I arrived in Austin. Troy had some business to attend to and we also stopped to buy new hats. I’ve long since worn out that hat and many others. Troy still has his.
We left Austin, Texas for Hebbronville in my little car. We were still growing boys, so we stopped for supper at a Dairy Queen in Freer. We also bought some beer there in Freer. Soon, we were home in Hebbronville. Dad met us at the door. He hugged my buddy Troy and said “hello” to me. Mother kissed us both and then served us supper. “But we just ate supper, Mom” I gently protested. “We did Mrs. Garza,” Troy added. “Non-sense! You sit down and eat!” she commanded. Mother served us her wonderful “carne guisada” with rice, and “frijoles a la charra” (boiled pinto beans) and her homemade tortillas. We had no choice; my mother sat and watched us eat.....
See some excerpts below.
“The Coldest Christmas Ever”
Sometimes, there comes a time in a young man’s life when he is pressed to do more than he thought he could. To push past his fears and stop being a little boy and start on his path to become a man. For some this time comes slowly through sports like football, and baseball or later in life, with joining the armed forces of our nation. There are other ways this change can begin: at once, suddenly, for some and for others, I suppose, it never happens. They go on through life, never being challenged, never succeeding nor failing, and then never knowing if they could push beyond what they knew of themselves. They never learn they can be more, do more, and make dreams become reality. They are destined to sit on life’s sidelines, watching, wanting and never really trying.
I was a boy during the 1960’s. Among the many influences of that era, there were the western movies and television shows. So, like a lot of people of that era, my heroes were cowboys. But I was blessed, because of my Texas Mexican heritage, with real heroes to admire. My Dad was a cowboy. In reality my Dad was much more than just that, he worked as a chemist, a type of scientist, and was both well read and an excellent speaker. But that was what he did for a living, what my Dad was, in his heart and possibly even his soul, was a south Texas rancher. He was a south Texas rancher from a long line of Mexican ranchers. These are the folks who invented the “Vaquero” later known in America as the “Buckaroo,” and developed ranching and brought it all to America.
I recall from my youth, that when I calmly mentioned I was going with my Dad to our ranch in south Texas my friends and classmates were very doubtful. They too dreamed of riding the range, herding cattle and “totin’ a sixgun” and although they didn’t believe it, I actually got to do those things. One day, the dream became all too real....
“Papa Ysidro, ¿Dame un nickle por favor?”
When I was small, my parents would take me, and our family to visit our grandparents who lived far from us in deep south Texas. We would visit Hebbronville for Christmas and for much of the summer.
Besides playing with my cousins and exploring my grandparent’s garage, my favorite activity was pestering my grandfather, “Papa Ysidro Almaráz”, to take me along to his ranches. I couldn’t wait to go. It was so exciting to me. I would imagine myself in any number of adventures I had seen on “Gunsmoke” or “Bonanza” and I believed I could actually live them out on one of my grandfather’s ranches. If he would just take me!
Usually, I would ask my grandfather over and over again for permission to go along. He would truthfully that it was dangerous at the ranch. But I lived for danger. There were snakes. Snakes?! And the cows were not used to small children around and they could be unpredictable around strangers. But I would insist over and over. Finally, “Papa Ysidro” would give in and agree to take me along with my “Tio Alfredo” in the morning.
In Hebbronville, like lots of little towns in the south, you awaken in the morning to the sounds of church bells tolling the hours and the wind carries the “cooing” of the doves through the window screen. On that day, I burst from my bed covers and rushed to find my grandfather. Too late, he was already gone.
After lunch, “Papa Ysidro” and my “Tio Alfredo” would lie down for a long nap. To me, at the time, it seemed like a perfect waste of time. After all, I wasn’t sleepy. I know now that napping in the midday is the best way to avoid the terrible heat.
After a time I became used to this routine and finally decided to take advantage of my spare time. Before my grandfather would retire for the midday, I would ask him, “Papa Ysidro, dame un nicklé por favor.” He was generous, perhaps because he felt guilty for not taking me to the ranch or perhaps simply because he loved me and sympathized with the bored to tears child before him....
Retired Police Detective, Entrepreneur,
Political Analyst, and Author
Please contact Lauro Garza directly at:
lauroantoniogarza@hotmail.com
larrygarzaadvocacy@hotmail.com
latinotalktexas@hotmail.com
or by telephone at: 281-236-8294 cellular.
