Summary: When I was a little kid, Cowboy Bob was my hero. He had a children's show on local TV. He wore a stereotypical Western shirt and white Stetson and sat behind a table where he taught us how to do easy card tricks and simple science projects in between episodes of old 1930s westerns starring people like Lash Larue and Hop-along Cassidy. One day at school, I heard great news. "Glad tidings of exceeding great joy," Cowboy Bob was coming to town! He was going to be in our town's annual Christmas parade. Finally, the day arrived. I persuaded my 6'3" father to put me on his shoulders so I could get a really good look when Cowboy Bob rode through town on his valiant steed. After way too many clowns and Cub Scout troops and church floats and high school bands, there he was riding on the back of a flatbed truck, little kids sitting on bales of hay and a short little man spinning a rope and waving at the crowd. The wind almost blew his Stetson off and for a moment I could see that he was bald. I have never been so disappointed in my life. "Who is that?" I cried to my father, "That can't be Cowboy Bob!" But it was; alas and alack, it really was. I wonder how soon those who turned out to greet the Messiah began to feel disappointment. Was it when they looked up from spreading palm leaves on the ground to see a slight, dust-covered man riding a donkey into town? Did "alleluia" die in their throats, as they turned to a neighbor to ask, "This? This is the Messiah?"
