BULLSHITTING ABOUT MYSELF

Another cold front. I love them. They don't last long and our finest weather follows. Those days evoke places like Cuernavaca that enjoy an eternal spring. I pull up the blinds over my window and gaze at the gray skies and falling rain.

I may go to Austin this weekend or early next week. Of my three boys, number two has been residing in the capital for the last decade pursuing a musical career. He is 28. My oldest son is 30 and is teaching at a Catholic school in Harlingen and my baby is 13. He is hitting the weights, trying different hairstyles and looking at himself in the mirror every 30 minutes. He thinks he can be a slot receiver and follow in the steps of the Patriots' Julian Edelman and Danny Amendola. To his credit, he plays the guitar well and can hit a golf ball straight and far.

I just finished recording my first two CDs with 12 songs each: Hughes Blues and Brownsville Blues. In the first I took the poetry of the great African-American poet Langston Hughes and put them to the blues. It was a perfect marriage, much like marijuana and wine. In the second they are my original compositions. And these were all one takes. My production costs for the total product was $430. I wanted to sound like a toothless black guy sitting on his front porch in the Mississippi Delta strumming his guitar. I believe I achieved that goal. At the end of this article I will print the title song of the second CD. I had 50 of each printed and I can have many more printed inexpensively.

With my son, we're going to visit some joints and radio stations and leave the music. Maybe I'm a natural talent or, as many friends have told me, I have no talent. You can never let negative criticism blind you to your vision. My son becomes frustrated that his art isn't receiving the attention he feels it deserves. I tell him that I have been writing and singing for four decades and I'm not discouraged because I have never sought fame or fortune through my crafts. I have run into enough people at HEB Plus who have told me with a chuckle that they have found my musings entertaining or they have congratulated me on my show at El Hueso de Fraile.

I haven't surrendered in my quest to avail my material to more people. The CDs I'm going to package and send throughout the country. Over the years at my own expense I have published seven books and currently I have 14 books of novels, short stories and poems available at Amazon. Since I became sports editor at The Brownsville Herald in 1977 when the dying daily was a controversial newspaper staffed with aspiring journalists, I have been pontificating about Brownsville non-stop.

I started my own publication, the iconic El Rocinante. I was Brownsville's first blogger and I continue to pound at the keys on a regular basis. I have all the material written for a 15th book, but I need to arrange and edit the contents. I have a trilogy entitled The Trails & Tribulations of Tommy Tamaulipas and my 16th book will be the epilogue to that trio. I have every confidence that it could be my finest work if bad health and insanity don't undermine me.

As I wend my way through my 68th year, besides my three sons and three divorces, I have many other accomplishments. I ran for both mayor and city commissioner of Brownsville. In my mayoral campaign my motto was: "Let's make our resacas blue." I was 32 years old. My hair hung to my shoulders and I coordinated my campaign from the Palm Lounge.

I retired in June after 39 years in the BISD. Since I spoke Spanish, I was a natural for the ESL students. It was the ESL students who gave me credibility. When UIL approved soccer in the early 1980s, I became the coach at Porter and we won one championship after another, the first Brownsville school to reach state. We could have called ourselves the Matamoros All Stars. When we faced the gringos from the north, I would tell the kids to speak Spanish. I knew this would intimidate the white boys who would think they were meeting a bunch of 20-year-old ringers from Mexico.

I could go on and on, but I need to do my Yankee yoga--ten sets of pushups, situps and stretches--as I look at myself in the mirror and endeavor to convince myself that the remnants of youth remain in this aging body and I can't go down without a fight. I haven't thrown in the towel regarding true love, but if I'm walking around with a belly that hangs over my balls, I won't be getting the pick of the litter. Although many women are desperate and will take anything if he can help with the bills, I certainly wouldn't be content being with human litter.

I take a deep breath. I need to begin exercising because I'm meeting Tony Gray, State Rep Rene Oliveira's charismatic aide, for dinner. We'll eat and drink well as we have often done. We'll cover the local political scene as we have often done. When I ran for mayor, Tony would distribute my campaign literature. He claims he picked up a few chicks hitting the hustings for me. I'm looking out the window. It's gray and cold and misty. I think of the long and dusty and windy summers and I embrace the moment. Long live the moment!!!