The drama started as we were riding on the train around the amusement park. Two cowboys ran into our car whooping and hollering and firing their guns, Skinny Cowboy and Fat Cowboy. “This is a hold-up,” Skinny Cowboy said. Fat Cowboy had a bushy beard. He took off his hat and smirked at my family. My heart pounded… would this be how my life ended? At the time, I didn’t know the guns were cap guns. It was not clear to me that the Happy Mountain Western Show WAS NOT REAL as I was six years old.
Another shot rang out. Skinny Cowboy looked to the car behind us and sneered. “The law is here.” Oh, great, I thought, Law Man is coming to save us. Right next to me, Fat Cowboy guffawed and pointed his gun at the car entrance. He’ll get what’s coming to him another time,” said Skinny Cowboy. “Let’s get out of here.” Just as they exited, Law Man strode into the car, his sheriff’s badge shining on his shirt. He peered out the window, just in time to see Skinny Cowboy and Fat Cowboy running away while waving their hats dismissively at him. Fat Cowboy fired off a shot and Law Man ducked. And then the outlaws were beyond the view from the train.
“You’re safe now. I’ll get them two,” said Law Man. “Now, remember kids, there’s a lesson to learn from those bad men. Doing wrong is easy and can seem fun. But it never pays in the end and it hurts your family too. Doing right takes hard work but when you make something doing it the right way, it’s your own and you can take pride in that.” With that, Law Man tipped his hat and jaunted down the aisle and into the next train car.
From my parents’ expression I knew I was supposed to feel better; that Law Man had saved us, and everything was going to be okay now. Inside, there was no comfort. My heart was still racing. I knew something was wrong but couldn’t place it. Years later I realized the problem of this little social play. The sheriff arrived too late. The bad men were still out there. Being good didn’t insulate anyone. The bad guys had a good time and the sheriff was a moralizing, trite, impotent asshole. I couldn’t protect my sister from the bad men. And worst of all, my parents went along with this little charade. They’d already learned the lesson their elders taught them; that we must accept all the injustices of an absurd world where down is up and where right is wrong, and to play along and be a good boy or girl and respect the very system that gives nothing and takes everything.
The sheriff was right about one thing though—that there is pride in honest work. Perhaps it is a fool’s pride to care in a careless world. In good drama, there’s the fool who tells the truth. Call me a fool then. Bad men can destroy with ease as they laugh about it. I’d rather create something than tear it all down. Maybe there’s less laughter for the good person who works hard—and perhaps that’s because it’s more difficult to laugh when exhausted from working so strenuously and then having the world pile on unappreciatively because in a corrupt place corruption is put on a pedestal and goodness is either ignored as valueless or stamped out because it’s a threat. Instead of laughter, the good person simply smiles… and it’s a little bit of a sick smile because it’s tough to hold it there with all the tiredness and pain but it’s a deep grin that can be felt from the inside out. Bad people seem like they are having lots of fun but they’re afraid because deep down they know that, having done nothing, they are empty. Good people who work hard, might get their asses kicked all the time, but earn the right to truly feel accomplished.
Kevin Del Principe is a writer and film director. The son of a snowplow truck driver and a school nurse, Kevin grew up outside of Buffalo. He now makes his home in Memphis. I Animal is Kevin’s debut novel. He directed and co-wrote the feature film UP ON THE GLASS. https://kevindelprincipe.com/