The Miscalculations of Lash LaRue
Living far too far away from each other, I’ve logged hundreds if not thousands of hours on the phone with my Pops. Running the gamut. Breaking it down on a curb stone in the cosmos. A lot of these conversations are spent blurring our childhoods together. He often asks how his own son could be older than his own father. We’re still combing through it. When he was a kid his hero was Lash LaRue. He’d have his nose pressed to the television screen, breathing in the glow from the cathode-ray tubes. Lash was the King of the Bullwhip. Little Kenny B was going to grow up to be, not the next Lash LaRue, but Lash LaRue himself. It’s still possible.
Due to my age, I grew up watching reruns of my father’s childhood heroes. I believed Zorro and The Lone Ranger were the same guy. They were on back to back. I thought he just had two alter-egos, but only one mask. Simple economics.
It’s probably genetics, but most of our family refuses to completely grow up. The absurd is the highest form of currency. The impossible always has a seat at the table. And laughter will always be king.
What is an Arizona Snow Pony? They are keepers of forgotten childhood dreams. They are permanently sleepwalking through and protecting what you once dreamt of. Their blankets are woven from discarded childhood blankets and pillows. You just got to track yours down to get yours back — and they want to be found.
The Miscalculations of Lash LaRue is a homogeny of our childlike spirits. And that includes yours. Even if you can’t find it right now.