There’s a hundred years of history, and a hundred before that, all gathered in the thinking going on beneath his hat. The cold flame burns within him, till his skin is cold as ice. The dues he paid to get here are worth every sacrifice. All the miles spent sleepy driving. All the money down the drain. All the if I’s, and the nearly’s. All the bandages of the pain. All the female tears left dry. And all the fever and the fight are just a small down payment, on the ride he makes tonight. Its guts and love and glory, one mortals chance at fame. His legacy is rodeo, and Cowboy is his name. (Avildsen, 1994)
When I was a young child we spent every weekend traveling to rodeos. Pulling in the gates pulling the trailer behind, we passed truck and trailer after truck and trailer, cowboy after cowboy. My dad, tall, tough, hardheaded and cowboy down to the core, my brother Jessie, tough, stubborn with a don’t mess with me attitude, and I would bail out of the truck. While my dad would get the horses out, my brother would put all of his gear on, spurs, chaps, the works. Dad would start saddling up the horses and getting them ready for his and Jessie’s events. While I stood next to the trailer and took it all in, I see cowboys and cowgirls with their horses. I can hear their spurs jingle as they walk. The reflection of the sun off their big belt buckles is blinding. The smell of horse manure in the spring air is almost overbearing. It was nothing new, it was the same weekend after weekend. This was my life, I knew no different and quite frankly, I didn’t want to know any different. I was raised a cowgirl.
Jessie climbs up on our horse Paint and we head over to get Jess and dad entered and get their numbers. I looked up to Jessie and my dad. I loved horses and rodeos, but I never learned how to ride like they did. He was flawless and fearless. He was five years old and could stay on a horse no problem. He was next to run the barrels. As the contestant before him came out and Jess entered. He took off running Paint around all three barrels, not tipping any over. He may not have had the best time, but he was only five. He competed with people with a lot of experience and still showed some of them up. His next event was sheep riding. This was Jessie’s thing. What he was extremely good at. There was no way he was falling off that sheep until the eight seconds was over. Jessie placed first in the sheep riding which was no surprise to me. Dad couldn’t have been more proud.