When I was little, they were called snowbirds. People from the north who would come down to Texas for the warmer winters, then fly back to where they came from before the summer heat kicked in. But, then, something happened – they started to refuse to go home. Now, they are just called Damn Yankees.

I’m from Texas – where the deep south meets the old west. My accent, though imperceptible within the state borders, is recognized immediately across the world. Just by listening to someone say a sentence, I can peg which region of Texas they are from. All traffic comes to a halt twice a day as the old tradition of a small cattle drive goes through the Stockyards. It is the land of big hair and big trucks where it is perfectly legitimate to shoot someone who looks at you funny (as long as you drag him on to your property afterwards).

However, the culture has shifted in the last couple decades with an invading army. No, I don’t mean the growing population of undocumented folks from south of the border. I’m talking about a much more insidious group of people, long hated in these parts: Yankees.  Somehow being a native Texans has become a rarity amongst a sea of men and women born north of the Mason-Dixon line, most notably New Yorkers.

I have nothing directly against Yankees, but I really do think it’s best that they stick to their own.  True Texans can spot them a mile a way and the stress of having to deal with these folks is just too much to handle at times. They should be segregated and placed securely back across the border – clearing up the roads for those people who know how to drive.

I am not just a native Texan. My family has been in Texas from what is most likely the dawn of civilization. My great-great-great… grandparents were Ma and Pa Ferguson, a married couple who became the governors of Texas in the twenties. On the other side of the family tree were the White and Rawlins families who founded the town on Lancaster, Texas. My family has been here since Texas was a country and before. We are not secessionist, but we know our constitutional right as Texans to secede, if we so choose. But, we prefer, for the time being, to be apart of the US because it is convenient for us. Like most of us, I don’t feel all that patriotic about the US, but I love Texas.  Hell, I will even drink Lone Star beer just for the fact that it’s the Texas generic crap beer.

My workplace, in the effort to throw some fun into the office, has allowed Western Casual dress for the Friday that the Stockyards are going. And, this year, like every year before it, I see people decked out in brand new cowboy boots, bolo ties, Stetson hats, and God forsaken FRINGE! Each and every one of these people are Yankees.

You will not see one true Texan lower themselves to this type of ridiculous pandering to stereotypes. In their closets at home, you may well find a pair of dress boots and work boots and maybe even some spurs and pearl snap shirts. And, like me, we’ve grown up riding horses, going to rodeos and drinking sun tea. We say “ya’ll” without thinking about it, call Dr. Pepper a coke, and already have plans made for February 23^rd to March 6^th of 2036.

So, Yankees, if you can’t pass the smell test, how about packing it up and heading home where you belong, and leave Texas to the Texans.

Good riddance. Damn Yankees!