THC Chaos, Football, and the Texas History They Don’t Teach You. From The Barbed Wire

Howdy, folks! I’m Brian Gaar, senior editor of The Barbed Wire. Texas keeps serving up chaos: politicians yelling at each other over gummies, former lawmakers suddenly speaking truth to power, football games that feel like action movies, and history classes that skip the real stories of Texans of color. Buckle up, the state of Texas is loud, messy, and completely entertaining.

Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick is losing it over Gov. Greg Abbott’s new executive order banning THC sales to minors, warning that gummies will cause “irreversible brain damage” to kids. Abbott’s plan? Simple: ID checks and labels. Patrick calls it a “state seal of approval for poison” and insists it’s not personal. Meanwhile, THC producers are celebrating.

Staying in the realm of Texas politics, former state House Speaker Dade Phelan is free from office and tweeting like a man possessed. He’s calling out Republicans for Charlie Kirk hypocrisy, defending free speech, roasting Fox News’ Brian Kilmeade, and weighing in on the THC debate — all with the blunt honesty his job used to forbid.

Moving on, are you ready for some (Texas-based) football? Last weekend, Brandon Aubrey saved the Cowboys with two clutch field goals in an overtime win over the Giants. Arch Manning’s Longhorns beat UTEP but the much-ballyhooed quarterback earned boos for his deer-in-headlights performance. And Texas A&M stunned Notre Dame with a last-second touchdown, sending Aggie fans into full celebration mode.

And finally, our own Leslie Rangel reflects on growing up Latina in suburban Texas and discovering the untold stories of Texans of color through journalism. From La Matanza to Chicana cheerleaders fighting for civil rights, these histories reveal the state’s whitewashed past and the resilience of communities often erased from the textbooks.

I Learned a Whitewashed Version of Texas History in School. Journalism Taught Me the Stories That Got Left Out.

Journalism can help fight the myths and half-truths Texans are taught in classrooms. Help us do more of it.

By Leslie Rangel

I still remember my last high school football game on the Red Oak Hawkette drill team. 

I was 17, and our dance group had spent hours rehearsing in our maroon leotards and bright white ankle boots with mini silver bolo ties on the side. We wore nude dance tights and white hats with matching maroon lipstick. Big white smiles, rosy cheeks, and fake eyelashes.

That was my favorite uniform. 

I loved the way I could swing my hips side to side and feel the fringe on my legs during high kicks to rival any Dallas Cowboy’s cheerleader. The sequins and sparkles refracted the glow from the Friday night lights. 

That last game of the season, our varsity boys played at the old Dallas Cowboys’ Texas Stadium in Irving. It was the first time our varsity football team had made it to playoffs in at least a decade, and it seemed like the whole of Red Oak — then population 7,000 — was in the stands. We lost the game, but those memories stayed with me. 

As a Latina and a child of immigrants, I didn’t always feel like I belonged in my small, mostly white town. But in that uniform, I did. 

I grew up just south of Dallas, and my parents — who were originally from Mexico and Guatemala — turned to assimilation for survival. My mom and (step) dad taught me to blend in and to embrace being Texan. Not Mexican. That was hard for a brown-skinned girl who didn’t look white passing at all. 

I remember the look on my parents’ faces when I told them I was dating a Mexican kid from band class instead of a white church boy like my sister. 

Now I see that they were trying their best to protect me: It was normal to see confederate flags on lifted pickups in the high school senior parking lot. At lunchtime, the kids at school self-segregated. Just last week, the Supreme Court made it legal to discriminate against people who speak Spanish or look brown.

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