By Julie Carter
He was only 6 years old when he first hit newsprint; a hazard of having a mother who is a writer. The story titled "Life doesn't get any better than this" told of the country-boy things that filled his days.
Like most ranch kids, this young cowboy's days (when not in kindergarten) were peppered with activities involving dogs, horses, cattle and miles in a feed pickup or in the shop learning guy stuff like welding and fixing broken vehicles.
The remoteness of the ranch sheltered him from the cutting edge of the "normal" '90s kid-life.
Power Rangers and Nintendo were the rage and he knew nothing of either.
His TV viewing left him thinking that the Lone Ranger and Scooby Doo were suitable heroes; no matter that they'd already been heroes to four decades of kids.
He was 7 before he ever saw a movie in a theater (Star Wars) and not far into it, he asked if he could change the channel and watch Scooby Doo.
He entertained himself daily by hooking up his red wagon to his bicycle with some well-engineered baling wire and loading up a hound pup to teach the pup to "trailer."
He would ride at breakneck bicycle speeds, the pup's ears flapping Snoopy-style, from the upper side of ranch headquarters to the bottom where the road curved to the barn.
It was here he'd make a hard turn-around, usually rolling the wagon and launching the puppy, but without missing a beat, he'd set everything back aright and get rolling again.
He began riding in the pasture during cattle workings at the age of 3 and by the time he was 6 his lack of fear kept my teeth clenched.
He learned to weld and use the cutting torch by first cutting his name, "LANE," in a metal plate and then wanted it mounted on the ranch entrance gate.
One day he leaned on his elbows on my desk as I was writing, hands under his chin, and very seriously said, "Mom, do you think it's time for a raise in my alangance?"
"Alangance?" I asked. "What is that?"
"You know," he said gesturing with his hand. "Money."
Ah, he meant allowance. However, he didn't get an allowance so I wasn't sure why he thought he needed a raise.
I quickly listed for him the work required for him to receive an allowance, and he just as quickly lost interest.
He wore only "snap shirts" (his name for Western shirts) and was al-ways geared up for play with toy guns, a worn out straw hat, gloves and usually a bugle and an American flag. Those old Westerns on TV will show a guy how to dress.
His favorite was the one I made for him out of flag-printed fabric that he selected. He called it his United States of America shirt.
A few things have changed but as many have not.
He's much larger now as he turns that magic age of teenage drivers, standing 6 foot 3 inches and weighing in like a line-backer.
He owns and operates most of the teen gadgets from iPods to cell phones and can text while he talks and runs a Google search on his laptop computer.
He still loves the American flag and still loves "snap shirts."
The old Westerns on TV are still his favorites and his excitement is in hunting, riding, roping and dinner.
Girls have hit his radar and his dreams are now of bigger toys, like a pickup to call his own and giving a worthy name to his new horse.
He can make a hand on the flanking crew at the brandings and isn't afraid to spend countless hours on his own at the ranch doing whatever needs done.
I hope the next 10 years of his life find him as grounded in the reality of what is important as he is now. My work is almost done.
Happy 16th, son.
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