I love history, but I sometimes have to tone it down around Andrea. While a student of history, she won't geek out nearly as much as I will. I'll rattle off some inane historical factoid during a conversation, and she'll either be really impressed or just roll her eyes. "Wayne, no normal person would know the name of Alexander the Great's horse."
The summer I was 11, my family took a roadtrip through the southwest. We lingered in Texas because it was just huge and you couldn't help it. As we cruised I-10, the Alamo in San Antonio was one of the places we stopped. I was excited. Back at home I had a set of Marty Robbins eight tracks and his "Ballad of the Alamo" was a favorite. It recounted the tale of the small Spanish mission's 185 defenders and what their bravery cost.
Now, here I was, treading on the same ground as Colonel Travis and Davy Crockett. On the very spot I was standing, a desperate struggle was waged 150 years prior. I was in awe, speaking in hushed tones to Mom and Dad as we meandered through the edifice. To mark the occasion of my pilgrimage, I bought a souvenir T-shirt and pennant. I still have the pennant; wish I had the T-shirt.
A few years ago, Andrea was in San Antonio for a conference. Of course, I assumed she'd tour the Alamo while she was there. She is, after all, related to Colonel William Travis. I called and asked her for her thoughts upon visiting the place her ancestor made a legendary last stand.
Me: "So. What'd you think?"
Her: "The shopping center is great. I found this cute purse."
Me: "Wait. What? The Alamo has a shopping center!? And what the heck kind of purse would you get at the Alamo!?"
Her: "Wait. What? The Alamo?"
Ah, well. The alluring sights and sounds of the Riverwalk were the greater siren call to her than the Shrine of Texas Independence. She was sooo close. According to Google Maps the Alamo was at most a 15 minute walk across the San Antonio River. Too bad the river wasn't as big a deterrent to Santa Anna a century and a half ago.
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