redpants

On the Road to Green Country

I didn't want to move to Oklahoma. Born in Colorado - even at the ripe old age of 8, I always knew I had a little bit of a mountain man in me that the brittle Oklahoma plains might just kill. Raised in Texas - even at the tender age of 8, I knew there was no greater place on God's green earth than the Yellow Rose state of Texas.

Despite my earnest attempts to stay in God's country, my parent's saw fit to uproot my brothers and I, and transplant the whole lot of us to Oklahoma - a land filled with red dirt, wild Indians, teepees, and no running water.

My dad had to fly to Tulsa to meet with his new company ahead of us, leaving my mom all alone to drive four boys in a 1984 Chevrolet Chevette across the Red River and into Indian Territory.

I protested as she drove, "But I don't wanna be an Oklahoman! I wanna be a Texan! Or a Coloradoan! Oklahoman doesn't even sound right!"
"Oh that's okay son," Mom would say, "I don't want to be an Okie either. We're just gonna live there anyway, we'll still be Texans in heart."

The argument drove on as we crossed the border, and Mom started to cry. We could all tell that she was affected deeply when she tearfully began to sing "Texas, oh Texas, so beautiful and free.." Respectfully, we gave her a few moments of silence.

Around noon, we were well on our way on the Indian Turnpike and our stomachs began a'rumblin'. Mom pulled over at the first rest stop she saw and began making sandwiches while we boys played tag around the drab picnic tables. To all sides was nothing but tall grass gently blown by the wind - I had never seen anything like this in Texas. It was hideous - where were all the trees and hills?

Then time stopped. My brother Chris was the first to hear it. Bum bum bum bum Bum bum bum bum over and over again. It had to be an Indian war party. We just knew it! "There! Across the field! That's where it's coming from!" Chris yelled. Bum bum bum bum.. Bum bum bum bum it continued pounding, sounding closer and closer.

"I've heard about Indian war parties," Chris said as we hid behind the picnic table. "When they catch ya, they skin ya alive." We yelped as Chris grabbed his own hair and rubbed a plastic knife across his scalp. Bum bum bum bum.. .Bum bum bum bum We ate our sandwiches in the car.

Continuing down the road, eventually Mom needed to get gas and go to the little girl's room. She told us to stay in the car and wait, she left Chris in charge. Now I had been literate for a few years now and was anxious to try out my skill while we waited. Looking around I saw a giant banner draping the front of the old Phillips 66. "C - R - A - P - P - I - E Contest" I began to sound out. When my mom finally returned I yelled, "Mom! Please! We've gotta turn back! These people have Crap Pie Eatin' Contests!" My more illiterate brothers squirmed, Mom laughed and began to talk about some very non-Texan fish.

We made it safely to Tulsa that afternoon, where we lived for a couple of months until my parents found a house in the small town of Coweta. It was here that I spent the rest of my youth, where I learned all about the drum beating sound of an Oklahoma oil well and of the ponds well stocked with crappie. It was here that I learned to love the expanse of blue sky over endless rolling plains of green. It was here that I learned just what it means to be an Okie - a title I would sooner give myself than any other.

Though, I'm proud to say, that I've never supped on the wonders of an Oklahoma Crap Pie.