"Where are we going today?" "You don't remember?" "No." "We're going to the Alamo."

 

The Mosiman women typically don't do well at historic sites. Savannah and I were once kicked out of Lincoln's museum (by an uptight Brad Mosiman) for (a) Savannah's chronic hiccuping and (b) my subsequent giggling. I was off to a rough start when I googled "Fun facts about the Alamo." Turns out...there is NOTHING fluffy (aside from the flashy tail of the cute Alamo squirrel) and fun-related surrounding the four-foot wide walls that memorialize American myth and mettle. There is a lot of controversy caught up in the concrete construction "Uh...limestone, actually," corrected a succinct staff member. Well-trained, they could yell "Don't touch the walls" in fourteen different languages. Had they been around in 1836, we might have experienced a different outcome...or at least, adopted another memorable catch-phrase. 

The Alamo is an interesting and eerie place. It is impossible to distance yourself from the bloodshed, fear, and stubborn resolution that ricocheted off these walls with even deadlier accuracy than Santa Anna's artillery. The magnificent trees that stand sentinel on the grounds are the only remaining witnesses yet they wisely remain silent as colorful perspectives change with each passing season. I definitely embrace the principle of the blind men and the elephant when it comes to history. I also anticipate the infallibility of the human race. But I am also careful to try NOT to judge historical events through my 2023 lens and attempt to account
for the culture that existed at that time.  

"What are you EVEN talking about here?" interrupted Savannah, "You refused to buy a t-shirt quoting Davy Crockett because you said there was no way that a backwoods frontiersman from Tennessee who, during his three terms in the House of Representatives (who never managed to pass a single piece of legislation) would have actually used the word may when he supposedly said, "You may all go to hell and I will go to Texas. Plus you swore that he would have incorporated a y'all in there somewhere." "That was more of a protest against exploitative commercialism," I protested, "and I was only telling you." "And the tour group of thirty National Guard personnel behind us," Joan said, "but, to be fair, they were dressed in fatigues so you may not have noticed them." "No," corrected Savannah, "we were with them when Mom declared that the long barracks was just a glorified grocery store." "That was printed on the sign," I argued, "I was just reading aloud!"

"You didn't seem all that delighted over by your little 3-D model tour display," I spat venomously, pivoting on Joan. She nodded. "I was just a little annoyed that, even though there was a GIANT sign saying Don't touch the model, the presenter touched every single inch of it," Joan admitted. 

"Soon they'll be done measuring the moisture," I reassured her, "and, soon, after their 400 million dollars in proposed renovations, we'll be able to touch EVERYTHING to our hearts desire." "This building is the poster-child for patch-up jobs," Joan exclaimed, "starting with that guy in 1744 who was going to make the church and bell tower three stories and then beat his lover's husband to death instead." I smiled. "We really have learned a lot. Before this, I never knew that there were so many types of limestone. The Alamo sports FIVE!" 

"I'm going to have my own t-shirt made," I said as we meandered off the Alamo grounds. "What will it say?" Savannah asked suspiciously. "Remember to NOT TOUCH the Alamo!"