Do you recall your first real job, way back in the day?  I worked at Montgomery Supermarket for $1.00 per hour. I was 15 years old, and they paid me in cash every week. I was a stock boy, meaning I had to run up and down steps carrying cans of beans and such to put on the shelves. My immediate supervisors were 20-year-old brothers, Harlan and Gary, pronounced, by them, as “Hah-lahn and Gah-ree.” They spoke some kind of Appalachian mountain dialect. The only thing I remember that they ever said was “bedeer bedarr.” I said “OK” and carried down more cans of beans and such.  

In West Virgina it’s … Muscae volitantes Bilateral cataracts Scleral buckle Pterygium Tea tree oil Sampaolesi’s Three other ODs in town Will he show up for his appt.? Bifocals Glaucoma Schlemm’s canal Try to succeed Prokera Corneal abrasion Branch vein occlusion Donder’s table

In Texas it’s … Brisket Bilateral Cadillacs Silver buckle Scorpion Oil. Just oil. Tamales 300 ODs in my building Willie Nelson Buy boots Guacamole Rio Grande Try to secede Pro football Chap chafe Ranch vein occlusion Texas fried pies

I quit every day, but Mr. Montgomery called Mom and she assured him, every day, that I would be back in the morning—and I was.

It didn’t take too much of this to convince me to be my own boss one day. And that’s how it all turned out, as I practiced private practice optometry for 35 years—right up until July 22, 2015.  

Now I am beginning my second stint as an employee right here in the Big D: Dallas, Texas. This is my first week in an all-medical eye care practice, and I am lovin’ it.  

I love the practice, the specialist, the staffers and the grub we ate at lunch today. 

Happy birthday, Toni, and thanks for the food, Heather!

I have already learned that there are many differences between optometry in St. Albans, W.Va. and optometry in Dallas, Texas. Here are just a few.

As you can see, there are a lot of things different out here in the Lone Star State. But ...

My Dad wore cowboy hats. At Christmas I always asked for a cowboy gun and holster. Now, Dad’s gone to the back 40 in the sky, and I wear his hats. I also still want the six-shooter. Heck, down here I could strap it on and wear it. It’s OK! This is just a leftover of the long history of the independent soul of Texas. I’m starting my journey with my new Texan OD buddies and the search for tamale nirvana, but can’t find a good ol’ Mountain State pepperoni roll anywhere. Maybe at a Big 12 tailgate. See you there.