There was a time during high school that I actually wore a cowboy hat. It had a feather band around the brim. I even wore some cowboy boots. I don’t think I have any photographs of me during that time, and if I did, you’d never seen them.
My family would spend a large portion of each summer in Colorado. My brother and I would don our cowboy hats and go out into the woods to throw hatchets at trees. Real mountain men we were. Friends that saw us in action dubbed me Black Bart. I don’t think they dubbed my brother anything. It was safer not to because he was much bigger than they were, and his hatchet throws always stuck in the trees. Mine usually just bounced off.
Somewhere along the way I decided it was much cooler being a pirate. I never bought a sword or anything, I never went about raping and pillaging, but I could sure sound like a pirate.
These days I much prefer the thought of being a cowboy. Cowboys are quieter than pirates, and that suits me fine.