The First Week of March

Over the years the first week of March has always held significance in my life. Of course growing up in Texas the first thing that it signals is the approach of spring and the best weather of the year. It also heralds the approach of wildflower season where bluebonnets, paint brushes, red phlox and many other varieties. In the Robinson family it also was Rodeo time.....with the Katy FFA rodeo that my grandfather LD Robinson in the forties. As kids we couldnt wait for the rodeo parade where they threw candy and trinkets to us as we visited our Mimi and Pop and the rest of the family. Upon my arrival at Aggieland in 1978, March the first took on another meaninging in my life as I met my dorm roommate and lifelong friend, Louis Hejtmanek, who was born on that date. In fact he is celebrating his 65th birthday today and we have celebrated being friends for over 47 years! Of course March 2nd is Texas Independence Day, which always looms large on the calendar for any native Texan, esepcially one of my vintage who grew up singing "Texas our Texas" every morning at the start of school, and was steeped in Texas history from an early age, even if it was terribly revisionist as I would learn much later in life. Little did I know, that March 2nd many years hence would also hold a darker meaning when I was fired from a job that almost literally and physically killed me and my spirit. I fought to save a hospital that I was leading and was let go for literally trying too hard to keep the enterprise going, and by people whom I trusted but on hindsight really didint deserve the effort. Honestly this turned out to be the best of blessings since I am not sure I would have ever given up on what was in actuality a hopeless situation. So in spite of trying to crush me, they really did me a favor and I have adopted March 2nd as my own personal Independence Day as well. The awful door that closed presented the most wonderful opportunity, and also allowed me to see clearly who my real friends and suporters were and are, and more importantly those who were not. And then there is March 3rd, probably the saddest day of my life, when my beautiful mother, Beverly Moore Robinson, died after a short illness and was buried next to my father a week later. In spite of the overwhelming sense of loss that I felt, and to some extent still feel, I know that I did everything over the years to assure she had a good and full life, especially after losing both her eyesight and Dad over the four years before her death. She was as imperfect as any of us are, but had an amazing will to conquer the loss of vision and live her life fully even with the hand she was dealt. I had said everything I needed to to her over the years, and she unquestionably knew what she meant to me and our family, and how grateful I was and still am her influence in my life and in letting me believe I could do anything and be anything, standing by me through my successes over my life, and equally when I faltered. So this first week of March looms large over my life, with the juxtaposition of most every kind of emotion and memory and influence as a result, but buoyed by the promise of the spring and the wildflowers and the great memories to come.