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Here in South Texas, we're so used to sweating everywhere we go. Just a brief walk during a 95-degree summer night turns you into a sweaty, drippy mess. But something happens in San Antonio when the night air is brisk; it makes us want to grab our rarely used jackets and head outdoors.
It was the early '80s, a time before Black Friday became its own red-letter day. We'd spent way too much time sitting around eating Thanksgiving leftovers, watching nonstop TV and arguing golf travel package over who was going to get the Christmas decorations out of the garage.
golf travel package But this was a special occasion; it was Fiesta-crowded and cold, but we were bundled up and Flambeau-excited. The lights in the trees — colorful little golf travel package spots of light that reflected in the water and lit up the night — made the River Walk magical.
My dad was so happy; he wanted to take pictures of everything. Sometimes he'd surprise us, and sometimes he'd stop everyone and tell us to pose while waves of people walked behind him so his picture wouldn't golf travel package be spoiled.
When I see those pictures golf travel package — my goofy '80s haircut, my faux-fur lined corduroy jacket and a smile on my face that was a mirror-image of my dad's smile that night — I see that my dad froze a moment in time on that cold night.
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