Child “Robs” Town and Steals Hearts
Confession. (I would have never started this writing project, if it weren’t for my youngest daughter’s insistence. Since then, it has kind of grown and taken on a life of its own.)
Megan has asked about various versions her older siblings give of being raised in a picturesque rural mining town, high in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. As pristine as this setting would first seem, it had its own unique set of challenges. Guess I should have mentioned , it was a mining town. Six months after we moved there, the mine closed. Up until a week before the closing was announced, the local paper continued to run articles saying that information about the mine closing was only “rumor.” Instantly, the miners who could afford it, moved. Those with businesses in town, found it more difficult to pull up stakes.
Some who were crazy people, or those who didn’t know better–like myself and my husband, attempted to tough it out. The beauty of the state’s highest peaks at our door-step, clean crisp air, a variety of hunting, hiking, camping and fishing sites all proved to be a wonderful temptation that we were too weak-willed to resist.
Every paradise has its price. My husband and I had just bought property-several sites in town, including our house. With four small children our options were limited. We didn’t have enough money to move out. There was no market for selling property, either. When my husband and I met, in Los Angeles in the late 60’s we were even more broke than we were at this time. Although he liked to think of himself as an actor, most of his friends found gainful employment as stage-hands or “grips.” When we moved to Colorado, he kept in touch with his agent and various connections back in the L of A. As we became acquainted around town, we either volunteered–or were volunteered for various group activities.
One of the groups, we joined was a cadre of locals who did “skits” for a founder’s-day type celebration in the summer. Really, another excuse to drink beer and make noise. The guys would dress up in “cowboy” wear and the girls would affect some sort of Little Town on the Prairie style dress. Then what ensued was a lot of yelling, beer-drinking, shooting off reloaded blanks, beer drinking and just a tiny bit of theater. Often the owner of one of the local businesses would want to be “held-up” by the Bad Guys. Or we would perform a mock shot-gun wedding on one of the town dignitaries-if they weren’t already in our group.
One particular Sunday Morning–All of us miscreants who didn’t attend Church would go out for breakfast. We would meet at one of the two local restaurants, for brunch. You would get to catch up on the weekly gossip and then go check out who was at the other restaurant. This particular morning, we took Zack –the “baby” at the time. Dressed him up in his tiny Western-style outfit and took “hims”(as he called himself) to breakfast with us. He must have been on the young side of three years old. Have you ever seen the Logo for Dutch-boy paint? He looked exactly like Zach. Blond-white, dutch-cut hair a face like one of Da Vinci’s angels, and little red-apple checks (I learned later that was an allergy!)
The Hub (husband) was more talkative than usual, this time. Some really important plans for hunting. Little Zach had slipped under the table and headed out the door, undetected, in the general hub-bub of people and kids and food and restaurant noise. Suddenly, he returns to my side again, holding up a hand-full of change. One of our friends made some comment about kids getting into purses. But, I hadn’t brought my purse. Then he scooted off to outside, again. This time with me, an arm’s length away. He tucked the coins into his pocket. He climbed up on top of a fire-hydrant, right outside and pulled out his toy six-shooter.
“Up Hands!” he announced to the nearest tourist. I was stupefied.
“OH!” exclaimed the elderly couple who had stopped to take his picture.
“Isn’t he sweeeeet?” “Here honey!” and the elderly lady reached in her purse to fetch out more coins.
I begged and pleaded with the couple not to encourage him in a life of crime–but to no avail. This display also drew a crowd and the little cowboy/pirate was excitedly proclaiming “Up Hands!” to one and all. Who could resist such an innocent robber? It was such a shame to waste one of the few beautiful fleeting days of Summer in the mountains to chastize my tiny criminal. I explained that in the future he would just have to look cute, without the gun. Unless of course, he had a contract to do that sort of thing.
Trisha Ross
