NEWSLETTERS

JULY 2002
©2002 Terri Hendrix

We know all about our Revolutionary War heroes. Here are a few heroines to keep in mind too on this July Fourth celebration.

--When her husband fell at her side, Margaret Corbin stepped up to the artillery during the attack on Fort Washington and without hesitation took his place and performed his duties. In July of 1779 the Congress awarded her a pension for her heroism - and a suit of clothes.

--Angelica Vrooman, during the heat of battle, sat calmly in a tent with a bullet mold, some lead and an iron spoon, molding bullets for the rangers.

--Mary Hagidorn, upon hearing a Captain's order that women and children should retire to the cellar, announced: "Captain, I shall not go to that cellar should the enemy come. I will take a spear which I can use as well as any man and help defend the fort." The captain, sensing her determination, answered, "Then take a spear, Mary, and be ready at the pickets to repel an attack." She obeyed and held the spear at the pickets till 'Hurrahs!' for the American flag in the distance told her all was safe.

--Finally, there was Deborah Samson, the first known American woman to impersonate a man in order to join the army and take part in combat. When she was twenty-one, Samson enlisted in the Fourth Massachusetts Regiment under the name Robert Shirtliff. She was sent with her regiment to West Point, New York, where she was wounded in the leg in a battle near Tarrytown. Samson tended her own wounds so that her gender would not be discovered. As a result, her leg never healed properly. When she was later hospitalized for fever in Philadelphia, the attending physician discovered her secret and made discreet arrangements that ended her military career with an honorable discharge.

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"Lord I hate green tomaters and I always will
They're horrible fried or when you cook 'em on a grill
But you let 'em get red and ripe on the vine
I swear they're absolutely divine
When I hate somebody or something a lot
I try to look forward to the day I may not
It takes time to reach oil when you're diggin' a well
It takes two or three hours for Jello to gel"
- Al Barlow, "Jello," from "At Home with Al Barlow"

Recently, while visiting a friend, I had the opportunity to help her daughter, a fourth grader, write a paper for school. The subject? What does being an American mean to you? By the time she finished her homework, she had me humming the National Anthem.
We discussed how being an American is more than cheeseburgers and fries and other modern-day pop culture luxuries (from "The Osbournes" to the XBox to glitter cell phones). Being an American is the freedom that comes from having the right to agree or disagree with our government and with one another. We get to choose our religious preference and individual destinies. It's also about being accepting of those who are outside our comfort zone (they're usually called weird) and not easily understood. Once I'd made this point, my friend's daughter quickly spoke up, exclaiming, "I like weird people. After all, I like you!"

For several years when I was a child, my family was stationed in Fort Clayton, Panama. After completing his military duties, my father packed our memories up, squeezed them along with my mom and us kids into a maroon van, and drove us from Panama back to Texas. My Mother translated from Spanish to English to Panamanian to Tex-Mex to Spanglish the whole trip, thus enabling us to communicate our way safely through the heart of guerilla warfare in South and Central America, then through Mexico to our home in Texas.

By the time we finally reached 4414 Desert View in San Antonio, we'd already missed a few weeks of school. For my first day back in the American classroom, I was decked out in my "Mola" - a hand-embroidered Panamanian art-style dress. I got to school thinking, "I'm worldly, extremely cool, and hip in my colorful ensemble." Okay .... maybe the bone in my hair WAS a bit much. By recess, while hiding in a closet, I accepted the reality that I was, by far, the most unpopular girl in my elementary school. At close of day, with the ring of the school bell, I found myself sprinting toward home through a ditch with a pack of rock-hurling ponytailed girls hot on my "Mola." Day in and day out,this scenario repeated itself. I was growing wise to the chase, though, and I'd found an A.C. unit around a corner I could hide behind while the Americans ran past.

Enough was enough. I decided I wasn't big enough to do damage to their perky little noses. Nor was I quick enough to dodge their rocks. I WAS, however, just bent in the head enough to freak them out. The next day after school, with rocks in hand, they were ready for me. (Hmmm, let's just say I was ready for them.) I faced the Americans. Squared my jaw. Dug my heels firmly into the San Antonio soil. I squawked, foamed at the mouth, flared my snout (just FYI.... when doing battle it's a snout, not a nose), did a crazy jig, chanted a mantra as my eyes glassed over and rolled back in my head, spun around in dust-colored circles, and .... was never chased again.

But .... I was forever labeled as weird. I could live with that. I still do. Weird is different. Unique. On the outer edges of the trend. Independent. To me, weird is what being an American is all about. It provides the spice to the melting pot. On a daily basis, I try to look at personal differences between people the way I look at food. Although I have great appreciation and admiration for menudo eaters, I personally can't stomach the stuff. It's weird. Anything liquefied with body parts isn't something that'll get me sprinting to the dinner table. But, I'll never turn down enchiladas and most everything else served off the menu from my favorite San Martian restaurant, Rogelio's.

If I had but one wish, it would be that people could rise above what they don't like in a particular culture by finding something else in that same culture to embrace. Wouldn't that be weird? What's with this need to cast history aside and wipe something out if you don't like it? For me personally, instead of pontificating solely (opinions on this subject I do respect) about the "Pledge of Allegiance," I flare my snout in hopes that teachers will receive much-needed raises, an abundance of computers in every classroom, and band instruments for economically-challenged youths. Wait, that's off the subject. Sorry. Freedom of speech! Add a dash of 150 languages and countless dialects into the American stew, and pesto...... fireworks! Wait one menudo, my friend, let's go back to weird.

I read somewhere once that people are like crayons. We come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. We just have to learn to live in the same box. And when that box gets "weird," it always helps me to remember that it takes two or three hours for Jello to gel. In time, perceptions can change. Substance and depth can be found where there appeared to be none. And what was once weird can be understood - even celebrated. And with that understanding comes education and an awareness that heightens our senses and brilliantly colors in (and outside the lines) this landscape we know as America.

Warm regards to you!
Have a safe and wonderful month,
Terri Hendrix

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