I have been blessed with a strong rodeo heritage in my family and am the third generation of rodeo competitors.
My Grandfather, who I actually never got to meet, was a calf roper who loved rodeo. His horses worked so well that others would borrow them to compete. There were even some cowboys who came up from the States for the chance to borrow his rope horses. He was known to make bits, buckles and spurs. He even pounded out his mother’s silverware to make them more ornate.
My father was destined for the rodeo world having attended his first one straight from the hospital where he was born. It was the first “home” he experienced. He has competed in most every rodeo event that there is, but has held the most placings in Bull Riding, Bareback, and Calf Roping. A strong endorser and promoter of rodeo. He has been heavily involved in running rodeo events and the management of rodeo associations. He still competes and judges, traveling far and wide with his horse and trailer in tow.
Us kids grew up being hauled to rodeos. And a couple of us competed ourselves.
I was one of them.
And I still try to hometown at least 1 in between pregnancies.
There holds a lot of significance behind being a third generation rodeo competitor.
It means wet arena dirt has a sweet sentimental scent.
It means that the gritty texture of dust settling in your hair is welcomed.
It means your heart races as you are called on deck.
It means horse steam and cattle cries make you feel at home.
It means parked horse trailers are seen as private hotels.
It means jeans, a western shirt, and a cowboy hat is viewed as a uniform.
It means keeping back numbers as souvenirs.
It means you have a plethora of finals jackets to wear.
It means you’re comfortable meandering behind shoots of the arena stage.
It means when you’re at any rodeo grounds you always feel like you belong.
It means as run down that alleyway,
back into that box,
or step into that chute…
the announcer is still talking about your Dad.