Word came down last week that another home-town business is closing. Dozier’s Barbecue in Fulshear shut and locked its doors this week.

Ed Dozier opened the barbecue and meat market in 1957, and the place was a staple for college students and families heading to College Station from Richmond and Rosenberg.

In 1985, the Evans brothers bought the restaurant, but they kept Ed’s name as tribute to this long-respected pit master. New owners came along a couple of years ago, but with Covid and other economic challenges, the restaurant decided to close.

In a blow that affected most of Fort Bend County, The Swinging Door, a long-time favorite barbecue restaurant, closed after 50 years in the same location. Most of us had sopped their famous sauce and jalapeno bread at those red-checked tablecloths, snacked on the dill pickles and held our end-of-season baseball parties and wedding showers at the cozy place on FM 359.

When my son went back to Taiwan a few years ago, he promised his friends he’d bring back genuine Texas barbecue. He took a couple of pounds of The Swinging Door’s right-off-the-grill brisket on that long flight overseas.

He was the most popular guy on the plane.

Every small city has more than its share of chain restaurants. They’re reliable, and the foods taste the same whether you order a burger and fries in Philadelphia, San Francisco or Dallas.

But what sets places like home-grown restaurants apart from the chain is their individuality, their quirkiness, and their ability to set their own menu and prices. They make their own decisions about what to serve, just like so many of our remaining mom-and-pop restaurants.

Many of the fast food places employ our teens and young adults as they work their way through school, but nothing beats having the family that employs you attend your high school graduation. These owners understand when you need to take the night off because your little sister’s having a play at the elementary school.

Maybe we don’t patronize these family-owned and home-town places as we should. But let’s face it, we don’t visit elderly relatives like we should either.

We have fond memories of our grandparents, aunts and uncles, know we owe them for forming us into who we are, and yet we stay home, order fast food and believe the families who run establishments we take for granted will go on forever.

The truth is, they’re disappearing faster than ever. In their place will be some bland chain restaurant, a high-priced convenience store or, horrors of horrors, a parking lot.

Gone will be the scuffed wooden table and chairs we sat on as kids and our children squirmed in until their dinner came. No longer will we order what we want without looking at the menu because the same food’s been on the menu for the past 20 years.

My mom made a great meatloaf, but it wasn’t exactly the same each and every time. That’s what made it great. It’s the same with family-owned places. The dishes and meals are almost the same, but we know that mom or dad in the back fussed with the details a little to make their meals a little bit better, just as our parents did back in the day.

Chains follow the recipes down to the same amount of salt. I’ll take the variety a local place offers every single time.

While we still have family-owned restaurants here in Fort Bend County, give them your business. Bypass the drive-throughs and sit down on a patched vinyl-covered bench and order food the way it’s been cooked for years.

Do your part to make sure we don’t lose any more eateries that make Fort Bend County our own special home.

 

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Our granddaughter had a special “crossing over” Scouting ceremony this week. This is when Cub Scouts advance from a pack into a Scout troop.

Kat’s been working for months to finish all her requirements, and the big night finally arrived. The pack stated we could bring a shadow box filled with Kat’s badges and other memorabilia to display on a table, so I fixed one up.

I walked into the ceremony about 30 minutes early, and my heart dropped as I looked around. Six other Scouts were crossing over with Kat, and their displays looked gorgeous.

They had tri-fold poster boards covered with photos and colored paper. The parents had carefully laid all the Cub’s certificates, Pinewood Derby cars and belt loops from the time they were in kindergarten to this point.

One table had frames filled with photos and decorations, and every belt loop, badge and neckerchief earned since the day they joined Cub Scouts.

We had a shadow box.

That’s it.

There’s nothing worse than feeling like you’re the most unprepared person in the room. It’s like going to a birthday party when you’re told not to bring gifts but everyone else not only has a gift, but the big package is wrapped in beautiful paper with tons of ribbons and bows.

Kat’s mom and I whispered about what to do and quickly started to take things out of the shadow box.

If we uncurled the ribbons to Kat’s medals, we could create a bit more interest. We unpinned her neckerchief and used that to take up part of one side of the table.

We’d brought a gift for Kat’s den leader, decorated with tissue paper and ribbons. We placed that on the table to add a bit of flair.

Still, we were behind the other elaborate displays.

I turned to one of the moms in Kat’s group and told her we didn’t realize we needed to go all out for this ceremony.

She smiled and told me not to worry.

Michelle returned with a banner for us to put on the front of the table plus extra pennants. We all dug around in our purses and came up with a few things to add some color to Kat’s table.

In a matter of minutes, Michelle helped Kat’s mom and me transform our humble table into one that sparkled, just like Kat was sparkling with excitement.

Kat’s mom reassured me her daughter was fine with the plain table, and I believed her, but I wasn’t. I want my grandchildren to feel special and to believe they are shining stars.

Fortunately, Kat didn’t need the glitz and glamor I wanted her to have. She had her family around her plus the support of the Cub Scouts she’d camped with, earned belt loops with and had fun with. She left wonderful friends and leaders, but her new all-girl troop welcomed her that night with open arms.

I know women can sometimes be catty, mean and vindictive. But when the chips are down, women rally and help each other. We’ll take a bow from our hair, share our makeup, clothes and the jewelry we’re wearing to help another woman feel pretty.

At the crossing over ceremony, the emotions I felt were pride in my granddaughter and humble thankfulness for women who support other women.

The highlights of the night were the smiles of pride on Kat and her mom’s faces as she crossed over the bridge to an exciting new experience. That was what the night was really all about, not fancy displays.

I know Kat will learn about the bonds of sisterhood from the all-girl troop she’s joining. That’s a treasured lesson she’ll carry all her life.

As a side reward, I was reminded that the sisterhood of women is alive and sustained by feminine hearts that understand a true bond doesn’t come from ribbons and bows.

That bond comes from the heart.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

My grandson and I were pulling into a parking spot at the grocery store, casually chatting. I glanced over and a tall, muscular man was running through the lot. He was dressed in raggedy shorts and a ripped shirt.

His legs, neck, and arms were covered in tattoos. Without thinking, I made a derogatory remark about the man’s tattoos. My grandson looked at me in surprise since he hadn’t heard something like that come out of my mouth.

Instantly, I was ashamed.

I’d judged this man by his tattoos and the clothes he was wearing.

I had no way of knowing what line of work he was in, his background or who he was.

I made a judgmental decision based only on how he looked.

Shame on me.

Double shame on me for making a flippant remark like that in front of my grandson.

I apologized over and over for what I’d said, but the feeling of shame and guilt hasn’t gone away.

Over the years, I’ve made snap judgments based on surface facts. I remember looking at people when I was a young woman and admiring their bravery in dressing differently or when their hair was a rainbow of colors or they wore whatever they wanted.

Somewhere along the line, my tolerance faded.

I was at a funeral recently, and some people came in wearing blue jeans. My first impulse was to shake my head in disgust and wonder what happened to dressing appropriately for the occasion.

My second thought was a mental slap. Perhaps that’s the best clothes they could afford. Maybe to them, dressing up meant a nice pair of jeans and a shirt.

Who was I to judge them?

Apparently, I’d found myself qualified to be the judge, jury and executioner.

Before I had children, if I saw a parent lose his or her cool in the store, I’d haughtily say that would never be me.

After my third and wild child threw some Oscar-worthy tantrums in public, I was ashamed I’d judged those parents without having walked in their shoes.

Now when I see a frustrated parent, I tell them not to worry about other people judging them. Those of us who had children totally get it and these kids will grow up.

The first time I saw a woman with a cardboard sign asking for food, the sight tugged at my heart because she had a child with her. My granddaughter and I went to a fast-food place around the corner, picked up food and brought it back to them.

They didn’t want the food. They wanted money.

Now whenever I see a person and children at a corner, I’m angry and judgmental. How can a parent put their child out there while they beg strangers for money? There’s agencies that offer food, shelter, and clothing.

But wait a minute, I’m starting to think. Those people could honestly be so down on their luck, they’re reduced to begging on the streets. They could be shysters but they could be desperate.

I see someone dressed in expensive clothes in the store and I think they’re blissfully happy. They have it all – money, jewelry, clothes. Looks, I remind myself, are deceiving. Just because someone looks like they have it all doesn’t mean they have everything.

There was a woman in the mall recently, and I thought she was down on her luck. Then some children and another adult came running up to her, with hugs and laughter.

What she was wearing or the amount of money in her wallet didn’t matter. This woman was surrounded by love, and the happiness on her face was quite evident.

I like to think I’ve got my temper under control, but I lose my cool more than I’d like.

I want to think I’m calm and cool in tough situations, but I’ll often have a meltdown instead of thinking rationally through the problem.

I want to think I’m showing my grandson to look beyond the outside and, instead, pay close attention to what’s inside a person’s heart.

I want to believe I’m better than I really am.

The truth is, I’ve got a very long ways to go.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

March is Women’s History Month. This is an annual observance that highlights the many contributions and strides women have made to history and society.

Growing up, I don’t remember celebrating a Women’s History Month. We studied women male historians chose. The women I’d choose would include famous women, but the truly important are the everyday women.

There were hundreds of women of all races, cultures and religions who helped create history. They’re the unsung heroes. The women who made sure the food was cooked, fields were planted and wounds were tended. They invented and created without receiving credit.

Women, like men, worked from sunup to sundown, but they weren’t mentioned as being important. These women weren’t valued, but most of us can look to our female ancestors for inspiration.

My great-great grandparents lived in Lebanon. When the war started there, our great-grandmother, Labibee, did whatever it took to feed and keep her family together.

She worked long, hard hours in a quarry. Later, she found items people were throwing away, fixed or repurposed them and made a nice profit.

Labibee carried bags of sewing items from one town to another to sell. She inspired her daughters to open their own successful sewing shop.

She, and many other female trailblazers like her, aren’t in any history book.

My dad’s mother was unexpectedly widowed in her 40s. Marguerite and her husband were in the middle of selling the family newspaper when my grandfather passed away, and the deal fell through. They lost whatever assets they had.

Grandma had a teen-age daughter, no income and a high school education. She found she could be a house mother for a fraternity or sorority. Her daughter could live with her at the sorority house for free, so she took the job.

Marguerite worked as a house mother at the University of Alabama, Auburn University and Louisiana State University until she was 93 years young.

She’s not in any history book.

When I was in high school, one of my favorite friends was Marie Anderman. She was one of a dozen children, and her father unexpectedly passed away. The government wanted to take the Anderman children away because they didn’t think a widow could care for them.

Mrs. Anderman proved them wrong.

She started selling Amway, and she was the best Amway sales person in the whole parish. She kept her family together, made sure they were clothed, fed and educated.

She’s not in any history book either.

Many of us have strong matriarchs in our family, women who bucked the system and forged the best path they could. Many were denied a formal education, but they insisted their children go to school and have careers.

So many had to work as domestics because that was the only job they could get while still rearing their own children in a society that looked down on women, especially women of color. But they cleaned their way through those houses, changed the diapers on other women’s children, and did so six days a week for pennies.

Those women’s names aren’t in any history book.

But they are in our family histories, and that’s what makes these women more valuable than gold.

They were pioneers for us. They did the hard work so we could have a better life, a better place in society, and, best of all, a chance to reach the stars.

For Women’s History Month, I’m saluting the unsung female heroes. These are the women in our families and society who did what they had to do no matter the circumstances.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I was listening to the news on my ride into Rosenberg early one morning. The top story was the presidential election where the mudslinging is hot and heavy.

Also in the news was a raging fire near Amarillo, and residents were urged to flee. The newscaster ended the segment talking about a looming government shutdown. Then there was the usual litany of accidents on the freeway, overnight murders and robberies.

And, before they go to a commercial break, beware of porch pirates, people robbing you when you go to the mall and purse snatchers as you put your groceries in your car.

What a way to start the morning, I thought. It’s no wonder there’s so much road rage out there, and why people are in grouchy moods before that first cup of coffee kicks in.

I neared the stop light on Avenue I in front of Lucky Rudy’s and saw the light was yellow. I applied the brakes, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young woman dashing across four lanes of traffic.

I looked to see what could be so important she’d risk getting hit. Then I saw where she was headed.

On the other side of the street was an elderly lady in a wheelchair. She was on the sidewalk, close to the road. She looked so small in that wheelchair, and I could see she was all alone.

But not for long. This young woman quickly made her way across the road and was rushing up to the lady. That’s when I noticed why the wheelchair was tilted a little bit.

The wheels of the chair had gotten caught in the broken concrete. I only realized that when I saw the young lady put her purse and bag down next to the wheelchair, smiling at the lady the whole time.

Then she pushed the wheelchair out of the rut, pulled the chair away from the road and back onto the smooth sidewalk.

In less than a minute, one young lady restored my faith in humanity. She’d noticed what none of the rest of us had seen, and she took immediate action without hesitating.

People must’ve noticed the lady in the wheelchair but nobody stopped. Someone could’ve rolled down their window and asked her or parked their car and gotten out to see if she was in trouble.

But on a chilly morning, nobody had taken the time to stop.

Except one young lady.

We hear about random acts of kindness all the time, and we remind ourselves we need to be better.

We need to pay attention and help others when the situation arises.

When something does happen and we’re either in a hurry or not close enough, we hope somebody else will take the time to lend a helping hand.

Selfishly, it’s hard to inconvenience ourselves, especially when we’re on the way to work, and often running late.

So many people kept driving right past that lady in the wheelchair, and I would’ve been one of them. I would’ve glanced at her quickly and told myself she was waiting for a ride or for the light to change.

I would’ve been wrong.

A feeling of guilt and happiness filled my heart as I drove off. Guilt that I hadn’t noticed the lady on the side of the road. Happiness that a young girl did something positive about the situation.

Despite the doom-and-gloom headlines, there are good, kind people right here in our midst.

They pay attention, get out of their comfort zone and lend a helping hand.

I’m glad that young lady did exactly that.

In less than two minutes, my dear, you restored my faith that this world isn’t going to the devil.

Thank you.

 

         This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.