I am sitting here tonight and "surfing the web". I have Pandora opened in another tab and the song "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys" by Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson came on. I did something that I hadn't done in a long time, I stopped and LISTENED to the words. After that song went off a song by Chris LeDoux came on, and the only thing I could think was Waylon and Willie are wrong.
Let me clarify one thing, the man that Waylon and Willie is singing about is not a cowboy. He is at best the character from that horrible movie from the 80's, Urban Cowboy. Any mother would be proud to have her son grow up to be a cowboy.
I will be the first to admit and I may be a little bias on the subject though. Although I never actually worked on a large beef ranch, I was blessed enough to grow up and fulfill a dream I had since my first trip to a professional rodeo; I was a bull rider.
I have asked several bull riders the same question, I have been asked 100's of times "What would make you want to ride a bull?" It is funny that we all seem to give the same answer. "I don't know, I just had to ride after I saw it." For some reason none of us could ever put the "need" to ride into words, but it always went back to when we saw our first rodeo.
I was 12 years old, and my parents owned a camper that was built into a cabin in the mountains of North Georgia. One weekend while we were at the camper, my Uncle asked me if I was going to the rodeo in the campground, about 2 miles down the hill from us? I told him I didn't know, and he gave me $2.00 and told me to go watch it for him since he had to go town. When it got close to the time for the rodeo to start I climbed on my bike and started down "bobsled course" (the grown ups called a road, but it was like a bobsled course on my bike) that led to the campground.
I paid my money to get in the gate, bought some popcorn and a coke then found a seat on the bottom of the bleachers. I watched the grand entry to start the rodeo, and laughed when the clown made his appearance. Then I turned my attention to the bucking chutes as a bareback bronc exploded out of a whirlwind of dust and launched himself toward the sun, with a man that looked more like a rag doll than a man tied to his back. The bronc bucked and kicked and made a lap around the arena, everybody stood and cheered as the whistle blew and the pick up men moved in to the rescue. I didn't stand and cheer, I just sat there and watched. After several more bronc riders made their try at the prize money, we were told the action was going to move to the other end of the arena, it was time for the bull dogging. I watched with my little 12 year old eye glued to the sight of that Quarter horse screaming out of that box after that big ole' steer. For a split second I forgot I was at a rodeo and thought I was at a drag race. Before I could blink that cowboy somehow slid from the saddle onto that running steer, stopped and threw him before I catch my breath.
Event after event, roping and riding, the clown blowing things up and telling jokes, and I was sitting there still holding my popcorn. I couldn't think about eating or drinking, I couldn't look away from the dusty arena, I had to force myself to blink because I was afraid I was going to miss something.
Then it happened; it was time for the bull riding.
The music got louder and the crowd started going crazy. The clown rolled a big barrel into the arena and two other men came in behind him, they were dressed the same but these two were no clowns. They were the bull fighters. I looked back to the bucking chutes and saw horns and humps above the gates, cowboys climbing down behind those humps and started putting ropes on them. The announcer was explaining the event, the clown was dancing on the barrel, the crowd was standing and cheering, and I was frozen in time. I couldn't take my eyes off of those horns, I couldn't breath, I couldn't hear, I couldn't wait until that gate was opened.
After what seemed like an eternity, the gate finally opened and the biggest meanest looking creature I had ever laid my young eyes on blew out of the chute like he was sitting on a stick of dynamite. The bull jumped and kicked and spun his way to the middle of the arena, he was going at the speed of light and in super slow motion all at once. It was the loudest mixture of noise I had ever heard and it was as quite as a newborn baby's nursery all at the same time. The ride lasted for 8 seconds, but it took 8 years to watch. I was breathing faster than I had ever breathed in my life, but I also couldn't breath. Then in a flash, the rider hit the ground on his back and the bull landed in his chest.
He laid there and never moved, his left arm was pointing to Heaven and as stiff as a 2x4. It scared me to death, but I knew I had to try to ride him. I can't explain what I was feeling that day, I was sitting on that metal bleacher, shaking, and not knowing if I was shaking from the fear I felt or the uncontrollable desire I had to ride that bull.
After nine years of thinking about that rodeo, and wanting to ride bulls, I was able to get on my first one. I was never too good at riding, spent more money trying to ride then I could have ever made. Received injuries that still plague me 20 years later, and the only regret I can think of is I wish I could have ridden one more.
You see that man that Willie and Waylon sang about, wasn't a cowboy. In the song they don't tell of the qualities that a cowboy possesses. I can't imagine the man in the song having a dream and working to achieve that dream. I can't see him driving all night after a rodeo to get back to work on time to earn enough money to go again that night. You see Professional Rodeo is the only Professional Sport I will even watch, or follow. I understand the riders, I know what they have gone through just to get to the rodeo and I understand they don't get paid unless they win.
When you are a Rodeo Cowboy, you "play" hurt, you pay your own way, and you don't get paid for just showing up. It's not enough to make your ride, you have to earn your money or go home empty handed.
I look back over the past 20 years in rodeo, both as a rider and photographer and I think about everything that I have experienced. I have made many friends, and saw many of them injured and some die. I've seen a lot of the country, but mostly in the middle of the night and at 70 mph, trying to get back home or to another town for another rodeo. I've been beat, hooked, stepped on, kicked and ran over. I had my life changed at a bull riding, when I accepted Jesus Christ as my Saviour. I have pulled my son's bull rope on several rides of his own, knowing the whole time that he couldn't explain why he wants to ride and being heartbroken because I know one day his only regret will be wishing he could ride just one more too.
I have given a lot to rodeo, and rodeo has taken a lot from me, but I still don't know of a Mother that wouldn't be proud to have a cowboy as a son.
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