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When I was fifteen and still a year shy of getting my driver’s license, my family made the five-hour drive from our home in Brownsville to my cousin Jimmy’s wedding in San Antonio. This was the summer of 1979, and most of us living on the border called the city “Sahn Ahn-toh-nyoh,” as it’s pronounced in Spanish, and not “San Ann-toe-nee-yo,” as I’d heard it pronounced in other places. My parents and I left on a Friday afternoon and stopped along the way at a Whataburger for dinner. My mom had wanted us to eat in the car so we could get to San Antonio before dark because she was well aware of my father’s long history of getting lost in any city that wasn’t…
The post What We Say When We Say “San Antonio” appeared first on Texas Monthly.
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