West, Texas
After hearing about the West, Texas blast last night and finding out this morning that my great aunt is alive and relocated to Hillsboro, I decided to spend the rainy, cold morning at the Perot Museum with Alex.
We went to the sports hall section and were watching the kids race different people/animals on the interactive running wall. The kids were so excited and were counting down for their friends at the starting line. Alex just loves to be held up to watch the kids race. There was an overwhelming energy in the room and I kept trying to count down with the group, but found myself getting choked up each time and had to stop. I tried to decide if I was really going to break down and cry in the middle of this huge, crowded room at a museum and if so, WHY?!
I had no idea.
It might have started with watching the Dove Beauty commercial that is circulating Facebook this week, or the cold, rain today, or the bomb at the Boston Marathon and all the negative news in general building up and finally hitting capacity with the West, Texas drama that hits so close to home for me, personally.
Who doesn't love West, Texas? (Only people who think you're talking about west Texas...like the area).
Everyone loves to pit stop in such a charming little town with delicious pastries.
My family has a personal history in West and if they read this, feel free to correct the inaccuracies I am about to write. You know I love to "embellish" a good story. (i.e. make up things I think to be true, but are in fact untrue).
Short of the actual Czech Republic, you will not find more Czech people in one place than in West, Texas. Just walk through the cemetery some day. You might literally ask, "Can I buy a vowel?" Their last names are unpronounceable to me (Prazsky, Adamcik, Hajny, Hrncir, etc.).
My mom's side is one of the Czech families who grew up in West. The only one who stayed (who I know...even though I should know more) is my great aunt, Rosalie. Her house was the house she was born in and since the beginning of my conscious memory, I remember stopping to visit on the way to my grandparents house in Temple. She would offer us Dr. Pepper (even if it were 9 AM), a kolache (not from the Czech Stop...she says that place is crap, but I can't tell the difference) and peanut M&Ms or cookies on her kitchen table.
We would play around her house while the adults talked. Wasps would always build a home in the back of her newspaper holder tube thing attached to her street mail box and my brother and cousins and I always came up with elaborate plans to kill them all and get the nest. (not the brightest children)
After everyone finished talking, we would load up the cars and go visit Great Grandma in the nursing home. I remember being really uncomfortable at the nursing home...like a mix of scared, horrified, and disgusted. (I was a real, sweet little girl). I would troll the hallways staring at the people who lived in each room. What was wrong with me, I don't know. All I know is looking back, they were probably staring back at me thinking, "where the hell did that Asian kid come from; where am I?!" because everyone knows everyone in West.
When I went to A&M, I would stop in and visit Rosalie by myself and listen to stories about my parents and about what little shits we were when we were young. Rosalie started using no less than a dozen swear words per visit.
I love her though. She's the only person I know who would buy a high school football square during play offs in her 80s. I'm still waiting on that balloon party she promised me and my brother when she wins the lottery. (putting money in balloons for us to pop).
She always told me she was proud of me.
It was sad to watch her wrestle with the decision to stay in her house, struggling, or move into the nursing home she had watched so many spend their last days. She couldn't drive anymore (my brother and I were in the car with her the last day she should have driven...picking up kolaches, she screamed "I can't see a damn thing!!!" while driving...) so she finally decided to make the move to the nursing home.
Even though I'm not a little kid anymore, I was right. Nursing homes are sad. When we go visit her there, she has only the things she could bring with her to fit in her small room (like a dorm). Our family's pictures hang above where she sleeps and she shares a closet with her roommate. She must have parted with a lot, because the woman likes to shop.
I've taken Alex a couple of times with me and can tell he is also weirded out by the place. He's much sweeter about it than I was though. His favorite activity is laying in her former roommate's bed and pushing the buttons to make it go up and down. The residents love him. Having kids come through makes them so happy and everyone wants him to say hi to them. Rosalie gets to brag to everyone about her family.
Easter was our last visit. Then the news story last night. I'll be honest. As soon as I found out the nursing home was not on fire and knew someone would let us know, I fell asleep. I was relieved when we found out she and my mom's cousins were okay in the morning.
I hope they rebuild the nursing home or a new one fast because it seems wrong that Rosalie is in Hillsboro. She's 91 years old and not saying she's close to the end, because the women in her family live a long time (95+!) but it seems fitting that she would want to spend her last day in West, her home that has been home from birth.
I guess the emotion from all of this hit later this morning. I pictured how scared Rosalie (and everyone) must have been and how hard it was to evacuate 100 + slow moving, elderly people, her room and the bird feeder outside her window (does she have any possessions left?) and Alex on the bed pushing all the buttons, the volunteers who worked tirelessly through the night, the victims who never got the chance to move...
I just don't like pieces of my past memories to get messed up, like so many do for people as they get older.
Standing in that crowded, loud room watching and hearing the innocence of children having a great day out of school, made me hug Alex tighter. You always hear people, after something tragic, say that they went home and hugged their children/family a little tighter. I always wondered if they really did, or if it was just something you say when there is no other explanation for living among the ugly things that happen in our world.
I was overcome with emotion because at that moment, in that room, I realized that you really do hug your children tighter and thank God for the moments like that one where you hope they will smile and laugh like that for the rest of their lives, cheering and helping one another past any ugliness that will happen around them.
I was seeking comfort in my child's innocence; It was a parental milestone for me.
We went to the sports hall section and were watching the kids race different people/animals on the interactive running wall. The kids were so excited and were counting down for their friends at the starting line. Alex just loves to be held up to watch the kids race. There was an overwhelming energy in the room and I kept trying to count down with the group, but found myself getting choked up each time and had to stop. I tried to decide if I was really going to break down and cry in the middle of this huge, crowded room at a museum and if so, WHY?!
I had no idea.
It might have started with watching the Dove Beauty commercial that is circulating Facebook this week, or the cold, rain today, or the bomb at the Boston Marathon and all the negative news in general building up and finally hitting capacity with the West, Texas drama that hits so close to home for me, personally.
Who doesn't love West, Texas? (Only people who think you're talking about west Texas...like the area).
Everyone loves to pit stop in such a charming little town with delicious pastries.
 |
| Westfest!!!! (a.k.a Czechfest) |
My family has a personal history in West and if they read this, feel free to correct the inaccuracies I am about to write. You know I love to "embellish" a good story. (i.e. make up things I think to be true, but are in fact untrue).
Short of the actual Czech Republic, you will not find more Czech people in one place than in West, Texas. Just walk through the cemetery some day. You might literally ask, "Can I buy a vowel?" Their last names are unpronounceable to me (Prazsky, Adamcik, Hajny, Hrncir, etc.).
My mom's side is one of the Czech families who grew up in West. The only one who stayed (who I know...even though I should know more) is my great aunt, Rosalie. Her house was the house she was born in and since the beginning of my conscious memory, I remember stopping to visit on the way to my grandparents house in Temple. She would offer us Dr. Pepper (even if it were 9 AM), a kolache (not from the Czech Stop...she says that place is crap, but I can't tell the difference) and peanut M&Ms or cookies on her kitchen table.
We would play around her house while the adults talked. Wasps would always build a home in the back of her newspaper holder tube thing attached to her street mail box and my brother and cousins and I always came up with elaborate plans to kill them all and get the nest. (not the brightest children)
After everyone finished talking, we would load up the cars and go visit Great Grandma in the nursing home. I remember being really uncomfortable at the nursing home...like a mix of scared, horrified, and disgusted. (I was a real, sweet little girl). I would troll the hallways staring at the people who lived in each room. What was wrong with me, I don't know. All I know is looking back, they were probably staring back at me thinking, "where the hell did that Asian kid come from; where am I?!" because everyone knows everyone in West.
When I went to A&M, I would stop in and visit Rosalie by myself and listen to stories about my parents and about what little shits we were when we were young. Rosalie started using no less than a dozen swear words per visit.
I love her though. She's the only person I know who would buy a high school football square during play offs in her 80s. I'm still waiting on that balloon party she promised me and my brother when she wins the lottery. (putting money in balloons for us to pop).
She always told me she was proud of me.
It was sad to watch her wrestle with the decision to stay in her house, struggling, or move into the nursing home she had watched so many spend their last days. She couldn't drive anymore (my brother and I were in the car with her the last day she should have driven...picking up kolaches, she screamed "I can't see a damn thing!!!" while driving...) so she finally decided to make the move to the nursing home.
Even though I'm not a little kid anymore, I was right. Nursing homes are sad. When we go visit her there, she has only the things she could bring with her to fit in her small room (like a dorm). Our family's pictures hang above where she sleeps and she shares a closet with her roommate. She must have parted with a lot, because the woman likes to shop.
I've taken Alex a couple of times with me and can tell he is also weirded out by the place. He's much sweeter about it than I was though. His favorite activity is laying in her former roommate's bed and pushing the buttons to make it go up and down. The residents love him. Having kids come through makes them so happy and everyone wants him to say hi to them. Rosalie gets to brag to everyone about her family.
Easter was our last visit. Then the news story last night. I'll be honest. As soon as I found out the nursing home was not on fire and knew someone would let us know, I fell asleep. I was relieved when we found out she and my mom's cousins were okay in the morning.
I hope they rebuild the nursing home or a new one fast because it seems wrong that Rosalie is in Hillsboro. She's 91 years old and not saying she's close to the end, because the women in her family live a long time (95+!) but it seems fitting that she would want to spend her last day in West, her home that has been home from birth.
I guess the emotion from all of this hit later this morning. I pictured how scared Rosalie (and everyone) must have been and how hard it was to evacuate 100 + slow moving, elderly people, her room and the bird feeder outside her window (does she have any possessions left?) and Alex on the bed pushing all the buttons, the volunteers who worked tirelessly through the night, the victims who never got the chance to move...
I just don't like pieces of my past memories to get messed up, like so many do for people as they get older.
Standing in that crowded, loud room watching and hearing the innocence of children having a great day out of school, made me hug Alex tighter. You always hear people, after something tragic, say that they went home and hugged their children/family a little tighter. I always wondered if they really did, or if it was just something you say when there is no other explanation for living among the ugly things that happen in our world.
I was overcome with emotion because at that moment, in that room, I realized that you really do hug your children tighter and thank God for the moments like that one where you hope they will smile and laugh like that for the rest of their lives, cheering and helping one another past any ugliness that will happen around them.
I was seeking comfort in my child's innocence; It was a parental milestone for me.
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