When I was a little kid, my father used to call me "Pecos Pete," after a comic book character who had been popular when he himself was a boy, and all my life--during an upbringing in New York, an education in New England, and a career based almost entirely in Washington, New York, and, now, California, I've looked upon Texas as the most alluring and romantic place in America, always wishing, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I could become a Texan myself.
And you know what? As of this morning, I did.
With my thanks to the forty-seventh governor of the Lone Star State, who surprised me after I interviewed him for Uncommon Knowledge in Austin. And when I say "with my thanks," I mean it. When I got home to California an hour ago, I was so excited that I summoned all the kids to look at this--and they thought it was pretty darned cool, too.
I'm already shopping for cowboy boots. (The governor told me I was now entitled to wear boots, especially when I'm in California.) Oh, and if this sounds like boasting, undermining that wonderfully kind post this past weekend in which Troy was kind enough to call me humble--humble, at least, for a former speechwriter--as I say, if this sounds like boasting, well, you've just got to understand. We Texans are a proud people.