Mind Yo’ Daddy
I loved writing 100 Things Longhorn Fans Should Know and Do Before They Die.
I’d wanted to attend The University of Texas from the age of nine, when Frances and Phil Zlotnik, friends of my parents, treated our family to a Longhorn game. I’d never experienced anything like the spectacle of a Texas game, and seeing the huge bass drum (the biggest marching drum in the world at eight feet in diameter), Bevo, a live Longhorn steer standing guard in the end zone, and the cheerleaders wearing burnt orange (a color unique to The University) and white fringe…well, I was “hooked.”
The Longhorn Band, also wearing burnt orange and white fringe, played “Eyes of Texas” as sixty thousand Texas fans stood and held up the Hook ‘em Horns sign. And this was in 1963, when Coach Darrell Royal and the ‘Horns brought home their first national championship. From that night, I never wavered in my determination to attend Texas.
I did attend Texas, beginning in 1972. I relished my years as a UT cheerleader, and by the time I graduated, I was a self-satisfied, arrogant Longhorn fan who believed that The University was simply the finest institution of higher learning in existence. Our state constitution, in 1876, directed the legislature to “…establish…and provide for the maintenance, support, and direction of a University of the first class…styled The University of Texas.”
Imagine my delight at being paid and being given permission to write a snarky, braggadocious book about my beloved University. No objectivity required. I could and did poke fun at other colleges, but mainly at Texas A&M University. Longhorns considered A&M our “little brother,” and we dominated them in football. So, in writing the book, I went to town on the Aggies, and in spite of having many friends who attended A&M, I went too far.
I found an embarrassing photo of the Aggie offensive linemen, which I intended to use in the chapter about A&M. I directed the publisher to purchase this picture from the A&M archives. Thinking it hilarious, I showed the picture to my daddy. “Jen,” he warned, “you don’t want to use that. It’s mean-spirited and embarrassing. I’m telling you that will be a mistake.” I, of course, knew better. It was all in fun.
After finishing the book and choosing the pictures and writing the captions, I found it impossible to hit “send.” The old fear and paralysis were upon me. And because I missed the publisher’s deadline, I wasn’t given the chance to do a final edit. The book was rushed to the printer.
The day the books arrived at my home, I couldn’t wait to rip open the cardboard box and take a look. Everything looked great, until I turned to the page that was supposed to contain the “funny” picture of the Aggie football players. There, in its place, was a picture of the A&M defense forcing our quarterback, Vince Young, to fumble. I thought I’d vomit all over the new books. The folks at the Texas A&M photo archives were no dummies. Some archivist had pulled the requested photo, checked what publication it was for, and quietly replaced the photo with one of their choosing.
After I stopped shaking, I called the publisher and whined and cussed and insisted they reprint. How could they have made this mistake, printing an inappropriate photo in my book? It was their fault, it was their fault, it was their fault. Yet what really made me sick was knowing that I’d deserved this. I’d gotten so caught up in how much fun I was having, writing about how great the Longhorns were, I put aside any kindness, ignored my father’s advice, and instead of embarrassing the Aggies, ended up embarrassing myself.
Lessons learned:
Mind my daddy.
Meet my deadlines.
Having a book contract didn’t give me the right to be cruel.
Karma sucks.
When it came time to update the book, I edited that thing carefully, keeping the snarkiness but rewording any mean-spirited passages. And I replaced the photo with a more respectful photo: the 2011 celebration of Justin Tucker’s 40-yard field goal which sealed a 27-25 Longhorn victory to end the 118-year rivalry between Texas and A&M.
— Jenna
