Brave Cowboy.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 10, 2010


Brave Cowboy.

There were drake mallards with some hens. Two kids, dressed a little funny, stood next to the kneeling father in his Sunday best camelhair coat. His receding hairline and widow’s peaks were an integral part of him since he was a young man. It must have been pretty cold because the boys’ matching plaid wool coats went almost to their knees. There was a bag of Wonderbread to lure the waddling ducks from the edge of the pond. The lone connection between Christmas in the fifties and today is Hermie’s birthday.

As I get deeper into the article on “Making Connections – The essence of memory is linking one thought to another” (July/August 2010 issue of: Scientific American MIND”) I realized dad was born today in ’22 or ’23. I have some very vibrant memories of that visit to the pond.

From other things I have read about memories, it is quite possible that many of these recollections of that day might be wrong or an amalgamation of others. Also from a web summary of the article (http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=making-connections): “New experiences can lead a network of cells to develop further connections, adding to a memory and helping us learn but sometimes modifying a recollection and creating false memories.”


That day was an especially cold Christmas as my once young brain recalls it. My brother and I got the matching coats and the cowboy outfits. I was a believer and Santa delivered. It is quite possible that other memories from other things have gotten packaged together with that pleasant afternoon. There were cowboy boots.

Mike, keeper of the family archives has a roll of film dedicated to Christmas that year and the visit to the duck pond. The date the film was developed is conveniently printed on the white border of the black and white print. We will have to stroll down Memory Lane the next time I visit him. If some of my memories of that day are a little sketchy at least I am 100% on the roll of film or at least the one single photo of the event. It was a moment captured in time. I remember one other image of mom that dad must have taken and she was very young. We don’t have many pictures of mom since she was more than a bit camera shy of that Kodak Hawkeye Brownie.

Having a copy of those photos would be very helpful for an accuracy that right now is of little concern. The connections as they exist in my mind are fixed and that is what is important. Dad, Mike and I are feeding the ducks. I do remember the cowboy gun and hat but not really in conjunction with the duck feeding without the photographic link. The gun was a pot metal cap pistol that came with a belt and holster. There were quite a few caps shot off with that gun. The caps came on a roll of red paper that was stored where there should have been bullets. The holster and the belt were made of leather because it was before the days of plastic substitutes. My cowboy hat had white applied trim to the red wool with a string keeper that was red. It had a wood slider bead on the string to cinch up under my chin to keep the hat from blowing off. Mike’s outfit was identical except his cowboy hat was black.

Stored somewhere in the ganglia of synapses and neurons is a gigantic white attack swan with a bright orange bill. This swan did not like me but somehow I think the swan might be from another visit to the pond; I can not be sure. I remember begging to wear the cowboy boots to bed and my grandmother’s horrified look when my mother gave in to my whining. I don’t remember waking up with the cowboy boots on but I do know it was in my own bed and not my parents’ where we fell asleep.

What lit the match of nostalgia was a picture from the article of two ducks and a white goose. That was the happenstance that pulled everything together. From that article: “Links between things, events, people and our actions – so-called item associations – are the reason certain objects evoke reminiscence and become keepsakes.”

I probably ran toward the swan, leveled my cap pistol and let him have it. Whether it was on that visit or another I sure remember that swan coming after me as I ran for my life. I was saved by my mom as she swatted at big bird with her huge purse.

I am sure mom had a hat on. Since mom rarely wore a hat, I am guessing that we wore our new outfits to Christmas mass, checked our guns and hats at the door and then put them back on after mass for the visit at the park. It should also be noted that cowboys sometimes need to be defended by women with purses. And the reason I remember the widow’s peaks is because dad hated hats.


Happy Birthday, Dad. If that is not exactly how it happened it is almost too perfect to try to change. I am going to call Mike to remind him.

© 08.10.2010 steven d philbrick SR+ DakotaDawg
POSTED BY SRPLUS AT 11:44 AM