Houston, The Great American City
Houston, Texas, the bullish land oil wrought, inhabited by a people that fascinate me: Texans, true, determined, bold and optimistic. Houston is an able-bodied city, as able as they come these days, and I am a member of it.
Every time I take a drive down 610 or cruise Memorial Parkway or cross the stretch of Westheimer (so long it would seem to connect me to the Gulf), I am reminded of Houston’s character, a no-nonsense titan, so giant that it can’t even fathom itself. And frankly, it doesn’t have time to do so, nor does it care to. Houston is not a self conscious city in this way. It doesn’t care to be known as the Sunshine City. It’s too busy doing what it does best, moving and shaking like that of a graceful cowboy. It won’t be told what to do.
And this is the drum beat all Houstonians are moving to, as different as they come. From Texas’ smallest towns to the world’s largest cities, Houston represents its own and all somehow from within the sprawling walls of this knows-no-bounds city. And that is the mark of a great city, when no one can tell you where it begins and ends and who it represents. Houstonians are all quite welcome and comfortable making a home here, defining it, as it allows.
Houston is the Great American City I live in and someday, I will get to tell my children about the magic and unparalleled exuberance of the Livestock Show and Rodeo, about the underground city of capital known as the Downtown Tunnels, alive with suits and sounds of click-clacking heels, boots and shined shoes scuffling across waxed floors. I will tell them about highways with so many lanes I lost count and that imperceptible salty scent drifting off the Gulf Coast. I will tell them, you don’t have to be a cowboy to love Houston, though it’ll sure put a kick in your step and want to make you buy a good pair of boots. I will tell them, you can be anything you want to be in Houston, Texas, as long as you love Texas, you’ll do just fine.