Tessie D

Here’s a fun fact about me: my last name is Despare.

(I probably shouldn’t be telling the whole world my name, but I don’t think anyone is going to read this anyway.)

Anyway, I learned over the weekend that my family goes back all the way to the Alamo.

I was with Daddy getting breakfast at the Buckboard on Saturday morning when Mr. Cooke told us. He’s the preacher at the Baptist church on Live Oak, by the old hospital, so he’s pretty popular. Everyone treats him like he’s some kind of celebrity.

We had just gotten there and were being seated when Daddy spotted Mr. Cooke at the table next to our booth.

“Good mornin’, James! Is it dry enough for ya? We haven’t had any of them spring rains yet, and we’re supposed to be getting ’em. The hay’s never gonna grow at this goddamn rate.”

Mr. Cooke was sitting at a long table with several other men. He looked annoyed at Daddy, yelling like we weren’t sitting right next to him. He gave Daddy the same patronizing smile everyone in town gives him.

“Well, Mr. D’Espallier, I don’t know about that. I think we’ll just have to keep praying and trust in the Lord to get us through it.”

Daddy smiled, clearly enjoying the attention.

“Mr. D’Espallier? What the hell is that all about?”

Mr. Cooke’s face shifted. He glanced around at the other men at the table, like they were all in on a joke Daddy didn’t get. I knew they’d be laughing about it later, after we left.

“D’Espallier is the correct pronunciation of your name. Have you never read about Charles D’Espallier in school when studying the Alamo? Your family is descended from one of the original defenders of the Republic of Texas. You have revolutionary blood in you, sir.”

Mr. Cooke looked at the men sitting with him, clearly enjoying the impromptu history lesson. I could hear the mocking tone in his voice, but Daddy missed it. Instead, Daddy laughed and pulled the packet of cigarettes from his front right breast pocket.

“The Alamo. One of my relatives was a revolutionary at the Alamo? Well, I’ll be damned. Y’all can go to hell, and I’ll stay right here in Texas!”

“That was Davy Crockett. Your ancestor was from Louisiana and was recognized for his bravery by William B. Travis.”

“Well, you don’t say. We’re practically Texas royalty, then! I could be this town’s mayor. Hell, I could be the governor!”

“Maybe in a different life. Charles D’Espallier died in service to the cause.”

“Well, if he died, then that must mean the State of Texas owes us something, don’t you think?” Daddy said, winking over at me.

“I’m sure if they did, that money’s long been spent.”

Daddy slapped his hand down on Mr. Cooke’s shoulder, and Mr. Cooke cringed. He glanced down at Daddy’s chubby fingers gripping his newly starched shirt.

“Bullshit. We’re Charles D’Espallier’s kin. That’s gotta count for something.”

Daddy bellowed to the waitress standing at the cash register, “Janie, you hear that? I’m Texas royalty! Remember the Alamo!”

Daddy spent the rest of the day with his pinky in the air, asking everyone to call him Mr. D’Espallier.