The Alamo

The Alamo
Austin, Texas
December 2010

I am on a crossroad trip with my 12-year-old nephew. I have set the agenda and he has been a good sport about going to places that I think would interest both of us. We are in New Mexico. We just left Roswell.  I’m beginning to map out our route to California when he interjects, “I would like to go to the Alamo”. I remind him that the Alamo is in Austin in Texas, south of here. We wanted to go across the country.

“I know”, he says in a sweet little voice, “but we are so close to the Alamo. We should go there. I love the Alamo”.

And so, we do. We head south and travel miles and miles and miles and miles through cotton fields. The whole time Jamison speaks nonstop about the significance of the Alamo. Truthfully, I never knew the story of the Alamo. It just didn’t hold my interest. But for this kid, this was a big moment.

 As we pull into Austin, he tells me he has butterflies in his stomach.

 “Why “’I ask him, “is something wrong”?

 “I’m just so excited”, he tells me. “All my life I’ve wanted to the Alamo and today I’m going to the Alamo”. He claps to himself.

I hadn’t realized how important this moment was for him and I am so grateful that I wasn’t my usual stubborn self. I’m glad we went with his idea to go the Alamo rather than California. I’m excited to have this moment with him as he fulfills his dream. I didn’t even take offense when he said to me, “and remember when we were in Nashville and you drove all around looking for the free parking?  Well we aren’t doing that today. We’re paying for parking today. We aren’t wasting any of our time when we could be in the Alamo.”

 He spoke with such authority and such conviction that I just had to laugh and pay for parking so that we could spend as much time as possible at the Alamo.