My Life in 2500 Words or Less

I grew up in the heart of one of the largest and fastest growing cities in America, a thriving, sunny metropolis of monster homes, maverick developers, sleek new malls and cool, refreshing movieplexes. Eventually, the megachurches moved in, too. We called it the Metroplex, or Big D, or sometimes just Dallas.

My family seemed to like it just fine. Living in Dallas was easy, after all: mild winters, manageable driving, easy shopping and ample entertainment for a kid like me. We may not have had cell phones or personal computers (they hadn't been invented caught on quite yet), but we had bowling, miniature golf, pro sports, concerts, laser tag, roller rinks, bumper boats - a lot more than your typical Chuck E. Cheese town. I also discovered my first true love: television. I could always count on Gilligan's Island or Dynasty or Wheel of Fortune or Monday Night Football to rescue me from paternal pressures, sibling squabbles and summertime boredom. We didn't have cable back then, but I'd watch sitcoms, soaps, dramas, game shows, sports - just about anything but the dull and dreary local news. TV was my escape back to the imaginary playground of childhood.

It was a pretty full lineup for a boy who was busy studying hard from an early age to get into a top-ranked college - convinced, as he was, by his competitive school culture and castigating father, that this was his only path to avoid a life of loneliness, failure and shame.

Overall, I felt lucky; I think we all did. My brother, two sisters, dad, mom and I had a roomy house, two Oldsmobile Stationwagons, TVs, toys, a golden retriever and season tickets to the Dallas Cowboys. And it seemed like Dallas had it all, too: big city thrills without the crime and grime, suburban calm without the sleepy seclusion. Our fellow Dallasites seemed pretty awesome, too: saner than crazy California kooks, nicer than nasty East Coast brutes. How could we not buy in to the frothy media narrative about Dallas: It was a rising star with an alluring mystique, charming swagger and a voracious appetite for success excess?

In case you missed it, all this was conveniently captured in the mass-marketed myth of America's team, the Dallas Cowboys, whose stadium was said to have a hole in the roof so that "God could look down on his favorite team." It was also chronicled in the trash-talking theatrics of the hit TV show Dallas. If you were around back then, you might not remember who shot JR, the show's shady central character played by Larry Hagman, but you probably remember "Who Shot JR?" - the extraordinarily effective season-ending cliffhanger question advertising catchphrase that seemed to echo the city's own penchant for self-generated hype.

I remember when I was 15 and got behind the wheel for the first time with a driving instructor, an eccentric, ornery, white-haired fella with shaky hands and a thick Southern accent. He guided me past the legendary South Fork Ranch, where Dallas was filmed.

"Look over to your left," he said. "Did you ever watch Dallas? There's South Fork Ranch!"

Surprised and excited, I turned my head to look and boom!

"Don't you take your eyes off the road!" he snapped. "Never take your eyes off the road! Never!"

Curses, I'd been tricked! The cagey old codger had set me up, and though I didn't recognize it at the time, I learned important lessons that day about driving safely, judging quickly, keeping your eyes on the prize and holding temptation in check. I have to admit I'm still a sucker for checking out famous sights as I pass them by - who isn't? - but I haven't driven by South Fork since.