Big Daddy's Advice

   
   "Big Daddy's Advice"
   
   Cowboy.  Live-Action.  Gently, gently.
   He put it in my hands at 12 years of age.  A classic piece.  Was trained properly.  Respect and reverence for the gunpowder antiquity, which wasn't exactly then--back in the yonder 80's, thataway.
   Arkansas boys.  No good.  Hoods.  Horseshit.  Best men I ever knew lived in the second poorest State in the Union.
   Holland would just come to see it.  Not violent or dangerous.  A piece of history.  A cowboy.  A dream of Clint Eastwood on the small, thin cigar, giving a shit about himself; moreover, loving himself, as we all should, from our genesis--not thrown into fear by phony superiority complexes.
   We all have sinned.  Nothing worse than sinning due to ignorance.  Ancient Hebrew Scripture says:  "We perish for lack of knowledge."
   Who can you trust?  You got the fundamentals.  You know them by their fruits.
    Anyhow, cowboy step-dad told my son, coming up here talking modern cinematic weapons, cops militarized, and the lack of Starsky and Hutch, saying:  "Boy--it only takes one."
   I wouldn't touch a piece.  But the Old Man carried it throughout the State of Arkansas, not needing a high-capacity bullshit magazine.  Single-Action.  Could crack the block of a muscle car forged in the 1970's.  .357 Ruger.  Nothing wrong with still having a pocket watch; plus, a sense of time.