Middle of East Texas

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I realize my mentality has been on the extreme end of the emotional spectrum lately. And thus these blog entries have been a bit heavy. So I want to share a story that made me ‘lol’.
If you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my father this will be a brazilion times funnier. If you haven’t imagine a 2010 Rooster Cogburn when you envision my father. [Truly, when I saw Jeff Bridges in True Grit I felt like he had followed my father around to mirror his mannerism and speech patterns.] 

For the past couple of months my sister has been dating a guy I will call Tamra. I’ve met Tamra a couple of times and I like him. However, I’ve informed my sister if he has any interested of pursuing a deeper relationship with her that it is customary (from my perspective) that Tamra ask for my blessing. I am not exceedingly concerned for the emotional well being of my sister. I need to look after my Miss and her brother. I cannot entrust the care of my favorite niece and her brother to anyone. Miss and Baby have unique emotional needs. I need to be conscious whom my sister exposes them to. –He has yet to ask for my permission to pursue any relationship with my sister so I am under the assumption they are simple acquaintances. 

Tamra is not white, black, or Asian thus in my dad’s mind, he is Mexican. When I was home this past February my dad asked me if I knew anything about Jessi’s “new Mexican friend.” Since Tamra is Egyptian and not Mexican, I justified withholding the truth by saying, I don’t know of any of Jessi’s Mexican friends.
[I like Tamra (besides the fact he hasn’t sought my approval to pursue my sister (if that is what he is doing?)) and I don’t care if he is red, yellow, black, or white.  Actually I would prefer Korean but my influence only goes so far with my stubborn sister… Honestly, I was more disappointed that Tamra is a Yankee than his ethnic background.]

My aunt told me that my dad was asking her and her husband about Jessi’s “new Mexican friend” and my uncle corrected him. My uncle told him that he wasn’t Mexican but Middle Eastern. Abashed, my slow-speaking, good-ole-boy father responds with, “I hope you mean the Middle of East Texas!”
Unintentionally, my father can be really funny. 

-Also, when I was in university I had to do a genealogy report and so I asked my dad where we were from and he proudly said, "The G-town!" (Garrison, Texas -point A on the map). I was expecting more a more ancestral answer.  I still don't know which European country we're descended from. For some reason my dad seemed uncomfortable answering these questions. As if he were trying to protect our proud family line. The furthest back my dad would admit to was, "I think some of us are from Chireno." (which my dad pronounces, 'sha-reen-ner.' -point B on the map. An exhausting 26 miles away.)
We are a proud people!