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It was much too cold to ride Out West, so I decided to delay my trip until spring. I spent the winter practicing my horseback riding on the banister of the front porch, becoming a quick-draw sharpshooter with my cap pistol. My sister and the cat were rescued from many sticky situations. I was Dale Evans and, in my secret heart, sometimes I was Roy Rogers.
My daddy noticed all the time I spent gazing at the horse in the distance and drove me to the field one day in the pickup. My palomino was just a broken-down workhorse and not at all the right sort of horse for riding Out West, so I abandoned my plan.
The genuine cowgirl outfit transformed me into Dale Evans until I wore it out, and Dale's and Roy's adventures on the screen helped to shape my character and my imagination. I still expect good to win over evil, and I'm always surprised when it doesn't.
This Christmas, I gave my granddaughter a genuine cowgirl outfit complete with hat and boots. No guns.
Now I know Out West never existed except in my heart, and that I didn't need to steal a horse to get there. As long as a child of the 50s survives, the King of the Cowboys and the Queen of the West will live on. Happy trails.
This essay is from Tis the Season: The Gift of Holiday Memories edited by Tom Peacock and published by Novello Festival Press, copyright 2001 ($15.95). The book is available at area bookstores and at branches of the Public Library. All proceeds go to support the Public Library.
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