I don’t even know where to begin. It’s so deep for me. Skin deep. I-I--Okay let me start at the beginning. I just kinda of had my fill of world noise as it spun out of control early in the summer. Black Lives seemed to still not matter. Face Book discussions that initially started with friends but then friends of friends jumped in to comment about how Black people should raise their children and Black on Black Crime. Then Trump. I feel if I say anything else about He who should remain nameless then I too would be complicit in the circus of He who should remain nameless. Hillary/Bernie wars also contributed to my descent. Thank you Sweet baby Jesus Bernie endorsed and the Angels Rejoiced! Yet, some how it wasn’t enough for Bernie to endorse Hillary. Still the hard core of those who feel the Bern plan to take their burn to the max and have a Fart In during the DNC this coming week. Ideology without compromise stinks. Brexit. Bombings throughout the worlds. Israel oh My Love how could thou turn on a dime and forsake thy own history and shame yourself with such hate. It came to be during this time I just needed to...escape. It started out as a vague remembrance of a simpler time. A time when I would lie on the floor on humid Kansas Saturday afternoons while he reclined in his easy chair watching Westerns. I would stealthily reach up with a covered giggle and tickle the bottom of his socked feet. He never got mad. He would smile laugh and we would continue to watch Clint Eastwood pre-chair psychotic break “Rollin, rollin, rollin Rawhide!” The Guns of Will Sonnet, Have Gun Will Travel, The Rifle Man and many other black and white shows that romanticized the Wild West.
I am taking a deep breath as I type so I can express my utter angst. I see the moment so clearly. TV remote in hand finger on the button scanning through the many and varied channels and then wait! HOLD UP! Wait.a.minute. Did I just see what I thought I saw? Cautiously, I pushed the remote button to scroll back. OMG! Yes! Should I? I shall. The first time I was so unsure, but when I realized it was a twofer I was hooked. The Roy Rogers Show my guilty pleasure my little black and white shame. That was the beginning of my afternoon closed door sessions of The Roy Rogers Show. I learned to lock the door of my bedroom so my young adult children would not barge in and mock my time with Dale and Roy. My daughter would surely cut me a thousand times with her scathing tongue. Her mother with the all that and a slice of pie Thugs Life tattoo watching fanfare she would surely term the devil’s work in these modern times after all the Game of Thrones reigns in our home. My son’s with the Hip Hop obsession would give an academy award winning performance death scene if he ever heard Dale and Roy sing Happy Trails. And my husband. Well. I don’t think I want to go there. Though I do still feel a little salty with him about being drug downtown Denver the first time the Colorado Avalanche won the Stanley Cup when our kids were small and realizing ain’t that many Black people into ice hockey.
Gentle Reader, my secret was driving me to distraction this summer break as I wait for school to begin again so I may resume my duties educating fine young minds. I needed this cathartic moment here at Kos where I know I won’t be judged for...Well. you know.
Some trails are happy ones,
Others are blue.
It's the way you ride the trail that counts,
Here's a happy one for you.
Happy trails to you,
Until we meet again.
Happy trails to you,
Keep smiling until then…
*quick note: I am on a library computer and will interact as I can from my phone.