I was always aware of being a little different.

In a land where lineage stretches far and wide and wild, rooting itself in the terrain of the place, i came from stock that came from...somewhere else.

I remember a fourth grade classmate who claimed descendence from the first man who crossed William Travis' famous line in the sand. Remember the Alamo, indeed.

In Texas, the state's history borders on folklore. Or religion. It is ingrained, mystical, and all-powerful. A reflection of the greatness of the state.

Did you know that technically the state flag of Texas is the only state flag that can fly as high as the American flag? In Texas this is a point of pride--and to see another flag at the same level as our great nation's? Well, we quietly swallow the injustice of that that--the flagrant act of disrespect. No, not disrespect against the United States, no we don't worry about that. Disrespect against Texas.

Thing is, I wasn't raised by Texans. My lineage isn't there rolling across the plains. It is on two ships crossing over from Poland and Ireland, respectively. It is in a small apartment in the Bronx, not far from where I live now. In a small home in Salamanca, close to Buffalo, in a town that is ever-so-slowly-dyring, but who lives in my mind