Earlier this year, Andrea and I were watching a video listing the most underwhelming tourist attractions in the United States. I was nodding my agreement with the list as the video scrolled through them.
The Hollywood Walk of Fame? Meh. It's dirty, broken pavement surrounded by hucksters looking for photo ops and sketchy souvenir shops.
Four Corners? It's out in the middle of nowhere, and the only boss thing you can claim is you were big enough to lie down and span 4 US states. Cool if that's your idea of a flex, but I've stood astride two hemispheres in Greenwich, so I think I'm good.
Times Square? It's in New York. 'Nuff said.
Then, like a dagger to the chest, they dropped - The Alamo. What?! Andrea was howling with laughter as the video's narrator droned on about the diminutive scale of the structure and the fact that it was just, well, boring. I could feel my jaw clench at the thought of the Alamo classified as boring while Andrea continued stifling her laughter.
She and I have a long-standing disagreement on the absolute must see attraction in San Antonio, TX. I, as a history buff, of course advocate for the Alamo, the Shrine of Texas Freedom, and site of the famous last stand for Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie. It's practically hallowed ground - is hallowed ground for a lot of native Texans.
Meanwhile, Andrea is all about The Riverwalk, two and a half miles of carefully manicured riverfront full of high end shops. I honestly don't see the draw. As the video continued to play, the narrator twisted the dagger home, saying, "A better alternative to standing in line at the Alamo is a leisurely stroll down the banks of the Riverwalk and enjoying its array of shopping and dining venues."
Andrea let out one last, badly disguised guffaw and left the room snorting in amusement.
After angrily giving the video a rare punitive thumbs down, I had to sit with myself. Was I the wrong one here? What was my fascination with this "diminutive little structure"?
The Alamo wasn't typical subject matter in Mississippi elementary school history classes. My knowledge of the events of February 23 to March 6, 1836, came from my own reading in various encyclopedias, a Disney LP album about the life of Davy Crockett, and an old Marty Robbins song, "Ballad of the Alamo" on 8-track that got continuous play time on my bedroom's tape deck.
I've only been to the Alamo once as a kid and I found it exceedingly cool to be treading the same ground as Crockett and Travis. It was one of the few places during that vacation that I dipped into my very limited souvenir funds and bought myself a T-shirt and pennant to commemorate my visit.
Maybe my enduring fascination with the Alamo isn't about the historical structure itself, but what it represented personally to me. It captured my imagination as a child and continues to resonate with me today. Maybe I'm a sucker for epic last stands. While others may find it underwhelming, for me, it's a tangible connection to the stories and heroes that shaped my understanding of history.
Next time we're in San Antonio, Andrea and I will have to compromise. She can wander her Riverwalk shops and I'll once again tread where my childhood heroes walked. Also, I've been trying to figure out for 12 years how to get Marty Robbins some Rock-tober airtime, and I've finally done it.
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