My last name was given to me upon birth into this world. It was passed to me from my dad on that eventful day. As I lay sleeping in my mother’s arms my dad signed all the necessary paperwork welcoming me to his last name and my family. Growing up as little girls, we planned and dreamed of the man we would marry and the wives we would become and as a bride surrender our last name for the honor of accepting a new one.
On July 27, 2002, I accepted my last name. It was the greatest gift I have ever received. I am very proud of it and have listened to hours and hours of stories from the family members who also bestow the gifted name. I know where the blood line comes from and how the name transformed over the years to the current spelling. I know the people that have signed it on documents, checks, and love letters. I am chosen to carry it behind my first name.
In our daily grind, I don’t believe we even give a second thought to our name. We don’t think of the importance or gift bestowed upon us from our parents or spouse as to feel us so worthy to share something so very personal as a name.
Growing up in our neck of the woods folks around town referred to us as the “Palmer” kids. Most of the little old ladies in church called me the “oldest Palmer” girl. Never once did I realize the importance of belonging to a family or having a last name.
My last name means more than a form of identity… it means family. It signifies everyone with this name is my people… my gang… my partners… my family. It means I will have people that back me up, pick me up, and help me up. It means I have other people to count on and who count on me. It means I belong somewhere in the world that others don’t. It means I am exclusive and important. I have role in this life and I have assumed full responsibility by accepting my last name.
My father-in-law teased me upon entering into the correctional field of work that my last name stood for something, and to leave it the same as I found it. I know he meant that he, his father, my husband, my brother –in-laws, my mother-in-law had all built a solid reputation in this field. I knew he meant he was confident in me and that I would be successful and add to the fortitude of OUR last name. I knew the value of our last name to him and his three sons and his father before him. I was proud to have it and very excited to honor him by doing my paramount best.
I watched my brother in September of 1996 accept his bride into our family by placing a ring on her finger a kiss on her lips and giving her our father’s last name. I saw the pride in my brother’s face as his shook his father-in-law’s hand and thanked him for such a beautiful woman to marry. I have watched them make a family, a home, a love that will surpass the ages and pass on their name to two of the most fun filled boys I have ever met. Two young men who will grow up and bring honor and dignity to the last name they carry. I know one day I will sit in a church like I did that day and watch my nephews pass their name onto their chosen brides. I will get to see them give these special young women a ring, a kiss and a last name they have cherished and valued. I hope the future generations understand the hard work, the pride, and the love that is contained… all in a last name.

About The Author:  Barbie Driskell (Aunt B) was raised in the shade of pine trees of East Texas. “I am very proud of my roots,  just like a pine tree, may not be deep but they sure take over when left to their own devices. I smile frequently, laugh genuinely and live simply.”

Here in East Texas we are quite familiar with the pesky fire ant! It builds mounds in anyone’s yard. Whether you are the First Baptist preacher with a pristine yard or the people with 3 dogs tied out back and a pile of beer cans next to your back steps… a fire ant will build a nice housing complex. They go up about as quick as any construction crew with a lot less equipment.
There is something magical about watching them build and remodel their dirt homes. As a little girl, I couldn’t stop myself from poking sticks in the fire ant mounds to try and find the queen. Even now as an adult I feel the need to kick them down and by now I am aware I will be bit. And the ants stick together. If one bites you, then 30 more will before you get the first one clawed away.
Why is like that? Why do we know the outcome yet we still kick the fire ant mound? I am completely aware of the affect it will have on me, the fire ants and the fact they will rebuild next door. They don’t have a problem in the world moving around the metropolis of my yard. I can bait them up, come out the next evening they have moved the entire Ant Apartment complex to a better spot closer to the pool. (a much better view)
Just like in life, we know if we make a rash decision the outcome will not be so good.  Yet, we stand there, stick in hand, and poke away at the mound, and run like we caught fire when we are bit. I did that just the other day. I poked and poked and poked, then wham!!! The bite!!
I knew the outcome wasn’t going to be what I wanted, but I could not stop myself from poking the issue with my words. I just had to speak them. I felt the need to verbalize what shouldn’t have been thought, much less spoken from my lips!!! There I sat next to a mound, knowing very well, I have been here before, and faced this decision of poking and prodding for the queen ant, or walking away and letting Mother-Nature take care of things. I knew that I would be bit and then jump around and ran in a circle and slapped at the bites.
This way of thinking is called a cognitive bias. What that means to me and you… annoying glitches in our thinking that causes us to make questionable decisions and reach flawed conclusions. Scientists say a human brain has the ability to process 10 to the 16th power per second, which makes the brain far more powerful than any computer in existence. But there I stood in my yard kicking over a fire ant mound.
The lowly calculator can do math far better than me, and my memory is often less than useless, but scientist believe we are the superior beings. Sometimes, I just have to beg to differ. I almost think the fire ant is smarter. He doesn’t attack anyone unless he is first attacked. He never bothers with a real estate agent, just moves the entire colony effectively and efficiently, not leaving one marching ant soldier behind. And above all else, they believe in protecting the queen, even if it means death.
Then out of nowhere… pops up a bored to death… I mean I could see buzzards circling over head… human… and I decide I must poke the fire ant mound with my stick that they are actually able to climb before I decide to throw it!
So, if we are so smart, we have invented computers, calculators and are at the top of the food chain, I must wonder… why did I do it in the first place?

About The Author:  Barbie Driskell (Aunt B) was raised in the shade of pine trees of East Texas. “I am very proud of my roots,  just like a pine tree, may not be deep but they sure take over when left to their own devices. I smile frequently, laugh genuinely and live simply.”

Growing up in rural East Texas, we learned the simple strategy of war. We learned that the best way to determine the final score was a good game of baseball. We would gather our allies and challenge the bullies to a good old all American game of baseball. We learned a hard lesson when we played the bullies… we learned sometimes people cheat! We learned we couldn’t get along with these kids not because they lived on the other side of the tracks, or that they taunted us with name calling, and not even that they didn’t go to the same school we did, but we learned they were just plain old bullies and they didn’t play fair!

It seems those lessons learned on the playgrounds of our youth still apply today. I still encounter bullies and they use ugly words and don’t play fair. They play games behind your back. They destroy your confidence and twist your strengths into weaknesses leaving you breathless and wanting to just say, “I will see you on the mound”!

I wish I could challenge the bullies to game of baseball. I always thought baseball was the hardest game to cheat at… because you either hit the ball and run or you are struck out! It’s that simple. I was never that great a hitter, but I was always a great runner! I could manage to get on base with a bump. I would rely on the heavy hitters to run my way home! My favorite thing about the game was the end… whether we beat the rivals or we lost, at the end, we would all form a line and slap the other team’s hands and say, “Good game”. We didn’t always see eye to eye or agree, but in the end, we acknowledged it was a good game. We celebrated the win or we respected the loss. Leaving the neighborhood more peaceful and our walk to the snow cone stand filled with banter either way!

Does it happen that way still? After a “bully challenge” has taken place, are we supposed to acknowledge the win or loss? What is the politically correct way to handle the situation? Do you just let it go, walk way head up or head down? Or do you turn to the bully after the challenge and say, “Good game”. I respect the way you manipulated, twisted or cheated your way into the win? At least the bully would know it was less about your skill being below average but more about your integrity being above average.

It seems no matter the age we keep adding to the clock, there are still bullies in the neighborhood. There is always that one person who thinks it’s ok to badger and push your buttons. The difference between bullies as kids and bullies as grown-ups… now it is less angering and more comical. I guess when they were growing up, there were never able to face down their bully on the mound, throw a ball at them and see if they could bat! They didn’t get to challenge them… They didn’t get to yell the words…”Put up or shut up”! There is something about having the courage to stand on base looking across the infield at your nemesis and hit a ball they were praying to the same God you worshipped you would miss! There is a special place in your memory bank for facing the enemy whether you won or loss! There is confidence that comes and a peace that arrives that is only felt once you hear the crack of the bat and the other kids yell from the sidelines, “You’re not a pitcher, you’re a belly itcher”!!!!! As you approached home plate and hit each side of your tennis shoe, and wagged your bat like you saw Pete Rose do… as you looked straight at the bully and waited for him to throw a ball at your head… and you hop back… whew he missed! I better hit this ball before I give him 2 more chances to hit me! And then you hear it… before you feel it… WHACK… the bat meets the ball and you run will all your might to 1^st base… where you give a silent acknowledgement to your enemy and they you… because at least you faced them down!

Aunt B
About The Author:  Barbie Driskell (Aunt B) was raised in the shade of pine trees of East Texas. “I am very proud of my roots,  just like a pine tree, may not be deep but they sure take over when left to their own devices. I smile frequently, laugh genuinely and live simply.”