Recently, I received a message on Instagram from the tween child of a girl I grew up with in East Texas. The kid was writing a school paper about the recent onslaught of sexual harassment cases in Hollywood. She wanted to know my thoughts, specifically about "Some women lying about assault and women sleeping their way to the top". The kicker was she reached out to me because her mother knew I worked for a person who is in the news for sexual assault. I know. There are so many reasons why reaching out to me was inappropriate: taking the stance that women are lying/sleeping their way to the top is pretty shitty. Knowing I worked for someone who has been accused of truly heinous things and thinking its ok to take THAT stance is pretty shitty. Not even once considering that it might be a hard or uncomfortable topic for me is pretty shitty. And, lastly, it's woefully stupid to think that I would choose some bumfuck high school paper to go on the record with when I couldn't for various, reputable, news outlets. Mostly, I was upset and disappointed that this child's parents obviously planted the seed of "women lying" and "women are whores", because I just don't believe thats where you're head goes when you're that age, unless prompted. I attempted to talk some sense into the child - speaking calmly and linking to resources that would help her to understand that the number of women/men who lie about sexual assault is incredibly low. I told her that while I couldn't comment on specifics, I could say that my stance is and will forever be to believe and hear the victims. I said that I do not think any of them are lying. Then I screenshot the message, blacked the details, and posted on twitter, because I am nothing if not petty. Of course, the next day the mom somehow tracked down my twitter and went off on me in my messages. I saw paragraph after paragraph, all caps, keep popping up. HOW DARE YOU. I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WOULD POST THAT ON TWITTER. WHAT IS WRON....and then I did something I've never done. I just deleted them. I didn't bother to read the whole thing and give it thought. I didn't take the time to apologize for being reactionary and small. I didn't even try to start a dialogue. I deleted. Blocked. And then WENT OFF. I now know why people are internet trolls - because sometimes it feels really good to just to be incredibly petty and fucking vent. As I was dragging that mom's ass on Twitter and Facebook, something amazing happened, I felt like a thousand bluebonnets and yellow roses of Texas were blooming inside me! I felt like I was a fucking Armadillo running headfirst into traffic, not giving a single fuck if I get taken out by a Dually covered in "Piss on Obama" stickers. I felt like Davy Crockett about to die in a blaze of glory at the damn Alamo, baby! I was coming back to my roots and I felt like screaming, in my feral, high pitched hillbilly accent, "BITCH, I'M NORTHEAST TEXAS AS FUCK"!

Because, no matter how far I've run from the red dirt roads of Lamar County, I am still country at heart. And trust me, I've run. FAR. The thing is, I never felt like I belonged in Texas. I grew up there. My family is there. It's where I call home. But I felt like I was Marilyn in the Munsters. That these were not my people, though I loved them so. I mean, sure I assimilated. Like, I was a drill team captain, or whatever, but I hated football. And yeah, so I spent my weekends going to the Elk's Lodge with friends so we could two-step and line dance, but I chalk that up to living in a dry town and not having a lot of options. And sure, there was a point of time in Junior High where I decided to see what it would be like to go to a church where every parishioner was a scarier version of Piper Laurie in Carrie. But I think every kid goes through a phase where they want to wear t-shirts with the Lord's bloody, nailed hands screen printed across it while they write fan letters to Christian pop superstar and bonafide babe, Michael W Smith. That's just normal teenage shit, right? And when it came time to pick a college, I got the FUCK outta Texas. I was either going East or West and in the end, I decided on Oregon. A place where I knew no one and could start afresh. During Freshman rush (you can take the girl out of the South, etc etc), I joined Gamma Phi and in the process gained the nickname "Texas". I honestly thought it was because there were no other girls from Texas rushing, so it made it easy to call me where I was from....what I didn't realize, until years later while watching home videos from various drunken escapades, was that I had an accent that made Reba McEntire sound like fucking Dame Judy Dench. I was called Texas because I sounded like I was an extra in Steel Magnolias. I was SO incredibly country and I didn't even realize it!

It wasn't until my college friends would come to Texas to visit me over the summer or on breaks, that they started to understand how this weird little pocket of Texas came to shape me. To be from Texas means you've got gumption. You've got sass. You're not fearful. Because honestly, everything in Texas is kinda scary. So you gotta get over that shit. You're a little kid and want to go play in the creeks around your house? Beware of water moccasins. And copperheads. Also the fucking snapping turtles that will take off a finger if you're not careful. Oh also ticks. And for good measure, there's probably someone drunk and fucking around with a rifle out there just for shits and giggles. So you survived the critters? Have fun with tornadoes. Everyone knew someone during the great tornado of 1982 that took refuge in a bathtub and ended up getting sucked up into the sky and catapulted a few blocks away. Not just that, you want to drink? Good luck. The town is run by Baptists and I'm pretty sure they based Footloose on how much fun you could have in Paris. The town until recently was dry. So if you wanted booze you had to drive to Oklahoma. Or as we called it "Going North". Someone would have to venture up to Oklahoma, crossing the Red River and picking one of the many seedy establishments that dotted the state line. If you were able to purchase the booze, you'd then have to get back over the river and out to whatever plot of land we were drinking at without being busted by the law. It took hours and required extensive knowledge of backroads. It was VERY Dukes of Hazard. I can't tell you how many times I ended up GI Joe crawling through a muddy field because some dumbass drove a car that had lights similar to a police cruiser and spooked everyone into running for cover. Don't even get me started on the fact that we didn't have MTV while I was growing up because the Baptists deemed it satanic. So we were fed a hearty diet of CMT and BET. Do you know what that does to a kid? That makes for a very weird child, y'all. I'm half Garth and half Bone Thugs. And even if you survived all that, there was just random shit that would happen because you're from the country. I once dated a dude who got his head run-over! I dated him AFTER his head was run-over, by the way. It was a party - he was running next to a truck, slipped in the mud, truck didn't realize and cut left, going over his head. Thank God for mud grips on tires and soft dirt. He seemed normal-ish after. One ear kinda stuck out, but it made for a good story. Life is just a little harder in East Texas. So, if you're raised there, it really does make you a heartier stock of person.

And it wasn't until the encounter with that idiot mother, who definitely didn't study her copy of "Emily Post's Guide to not being a Cunt", that I found myself wondering where scrappy NE Texas Morgan has been for the past couple years? I know I got hired for my last few jobs because I'm not fearful. But I chalk that up to age and experience. What I want to know is, where was this spitfire who stands up for what she believes and doesn't let other people bulldoze her feelings? That reaction, to just delete and not let the persons anger seep into me and fester? My God. If I could have behaved like that with my former bosses, just refusing to engage or let their anger make me feel like total shit, I might not be living in Vermont like a fucking hermit right now, ya know? And sure, while I can't spend my life as an internet troll (Can I? NO. No. You're right. I can't), I think I can benefit from being more like "Texas". Remembering where I came from and not giving quite as many shits. Because, if there's anything I know, its that while today might be decent, tomorrow you could be taken out by an F5 Tornado or bit by a damn snake. It's easier said than done, but y'all, shits gonna happen and people are going to be assholes - so ya gotta just ball up like an armadillo and roll out of the way. One day a semi-truck blasting Clint Black will run you over, but until then, just keep fucking being weird and ornery, man. Embrace the NE Texas.