100 Things I Want to Tell My Children and Grandchildren: #1

If you work hard and excel you will reap rewards, the best of which are memories.

(Photo is of my kids and grandkids, taken 2011)

When I was growing up, and throughout my mom’s life, I asked her lots of questions about her and dad’s families, and about their early life together. I mostly asked Mom because my dad died when I was 12-years-old, about the time I became curious about my heritage.

Mom’s typical response to my inquisitions was, “Oh honey, that was so long ago. I don’t remember.” Occasionally, however, she would spontaneously lay a snippet of family history out like a jewel for me to ogle, like, “My grandmother owned the first car in the county.” Or “My Uncle Wells built a three-story house and claimed he could not die until he owned all the land he could see from the top floor. And he did.”

“They were French, you know,” she would add, as if that explained everything.

All my life I’ve clung to those rarefied and slim nuggets of my family’s history, like water in a wasteland of inconsequential days, and I’m not sure why. Perhaps I just want to know more about the genetic bolt of fabric from which I was cut. Perhaps knowing that information would tell me nothing. I do know the absence of my parents’ intimate history makes me feel like I’ve lost a piece of my own life’s puzzle. So whether my children and their children want to know my history, and the things I have learned in the process of making that history, or not, here it comes, via 100 Things I Want to Tell My Children and Grandchildren.

Wow! Where to start? Well, let’s just start with the first thing that comes to mind.

I had tea at the White House in 1990. The fact that this was the first thing that came to mind is probably a story within the story, but let’s not start there. Let’s start here. 

(photo is me in the Red Room at the White House)

When I was the executive director of Keep Texas Beautiful (KTB) we won a national prize that was awarded at a ceremony in the East Room of the White House. I was seated on the front row next to a small riser and podium. When I sat down, dizzy with the sheer drama of being in the executive mansion, I noticed on the stage two small cards. One read “President Bush,” and the other said, “Mrs. Bush.” And I then realized for the first time that, one, they would be there, and, two, I would actually be sitting within five feet of them. I don’t care what your politics are, when you are in the presence of a president, you feel incredibly honored.

Let the People In: The Life and Times of Ann Richards by Jan Reid

Ann is what I call her, although I should properly address her as Governor Richards. But then everyone calls her Ann, as if she were a close friend, a sister, a neighbor, still alive. 

We all read books through the veil of our own experiences. As I read Jan Reid’s absorbing book Let the People In: The Life and Times of Ann Richards, there was a parallel story running through my head. Where I was when Ann did this. The words I said to Mark McKinnon when that happened in the book. My shouting match with Lena Guerrero behind closed doors on a certain day in the book.

Yes, my position as the President of the Texas Women’s Political Caucus during Ann’s successful run for Governor of Texas was fortuitous. But this is a book review, and my stories about my relationship with Ann, and some of the other characters in her life-drama are for another day.

Jan Reid (pictured), longtime writer for Texas Monthly, begins with Ann’s youth in Waco, Texas, and ends with her tombstone in the Texas State Cemetery. In between he provides an entertaining look at how Ann goes from the high school debate team, to marriage and motherhood, recovering alcoholic, county commissioner, governor and icon.

 Many of the details in Reid’s book are repeats to anyone who has read Ann’s two books, Straight from the Heart and I'm Not Slowing Down. But what I did find very satisfying about Let the People In were the details about Ann’s gubernatorial administration; what she accomplished, what she didn’t accomplish; and why. The players, the disasters, the almost constant drama behind closed doors kept me awake and reading even though I already knew they were coming and the outcomes, which is a tribute to Reid’s writing.

Of particular interest to me was Ann’s relationship with Bob Bullock, the bulldog Lieutenant Governor. One minute they were close as kittens, the next they were fighting like brother and sister. Anther relationship struggle I was unaware of was between Ann and humorist, Molly Ivins. In fact, according to Reid, Ann had the capacity to irritate, antagonize and occasionally tear people apart. Some of the comments he gleaned from Ann’s staff were cautious, but clearly not complementary. And I did pick up a few tidbits I probably should have known, but didn’t. Like the fact that Ann managed Sarah Weddington’s successful Legislative bid in 1972.