Tackling research can be fun. Let me just begin by saying no cowboys, bulls or husbands were harmed in the writing of this post.
This whole rodeo week all started out as a dare, really. And with a costume. My husband claimed to be a cowboy in his life, pre-me. I set out to prove him wrong.
That’s when I unearthed these ancient photos my mother-in-law sent me years ago. I vaguely remember the exchange. I think it was around the time I had a two year old and a newborn. Most of my brain cells were lost in childbirth, the rest make a random appearance. Thus, the genius blog you’re addicted to reading.
Imagine if I was firing with a loaded gun.
Either way. I never thoroughly looked thru the envelope. Until now.
This is my hubby at 2 years old. Happy little thing, isn’t he?
This cowboy hat is the first actual evidence of an inner cowboy struggling to get out. My mother-in-law had quite the green thumb. Look at the way those weeds bloom.
Now, this next photo has nothing at all to do with the west, cowboys or cow manure. I just couldn’t resist. I’d bet my cat’slife, it is Easter Sunday.
And, that he’d just finished watching “Staying Alive.” He’s 10 years old and his feathered hair is John Travolta-ish, don’t you think?
Since I included that one of the hubby at age 10, my conscience wouldn’t let me pass by this one of me at the same age. Just further proof that I was not a cowgirl and that I’m not entirely mean-spirited (Many of you have wondered about my hubby’s feelings concerning the photos and posts—he’s my editor-in-chief, so he’s aware. You wouldn’t believe the stuff I don’t blog about.)
At the other end of Texas . . . my husband’s dream girl was at Disney World (with my highly-frosted Momma) and I am in serious need of a hair care professional. Yes. It’s a ‘fro AND a smile. Together. Amazing.
Sorry, I digressed. Back to the research. This is a lovely photo of my husband in the 7th grade, to which my daughter said with a little too much emphasis, “WHO IS THAT?”
Notice the glasses. Like you couldn’t NOT notice them. He probably would have been beat up for those, except that everyone wore them. The lovely 80’s. I detected a small western clue. He clearly has ‘hat hair.’ I’m sure he’s holding his Stetson.
I asked my husband about the two photos I just showed you. This is what I learned: His rodeo career peeked between the 7th-9thgrades. He rode bulls in 8-10 rodeos every summer. He owned two horses, Hobo and Thumper. His dad was on the board of directors of the local rodeo and helped my hubby practice roping with a fake steer in the backyard. And his favorite place to shop was Wayne’ Western Wear. After a fall from a 1500 lb post-pubescent bull that resulted in a concussion, his career was cut short, enforced by Momma.
And then I found this. It’s rawness still makes me shudder. Thank God I did not see this photo before we married.
Okay. I agree. This picture screams “HICK!” more than it shouts cowboy. But just look at the pride in their eyes. See how my father-in-law a.k.a B.J The Truck-Driver (10/4 good buddy) lovingly holds the tail of his kill? And then, in my mother-in-law’s familiar script is written on the back of this photo, “two of the greatest.” That’s country pride, my friend. Notice the western-cut jacket, the boots. Proof, dear one.
Here he is in high school. Oh, stop my beating heart.
And this is how he looked when we were engaged. We met in Bible College. Notice the trim haircut. The suit. The glasses are getting smaller too. He was so cute!
(Was I REALLY that tiny AND tall? I’m standing on the steps, but I do remember being disappointed that I was over 100 pounds. Now, many pounds heavier, I still have tight pants. And, I’ve replaced the girlish look with a more mature look. Yeah, mature. That’s it).
He put his Wrangler’s away once we finished college and joined the staff of a church. I guess they distracted him from God. I know they distracted me from all holy thoughts . . .
I did figure out one thing in my search: I’m living with the real thing. Teasing, aside. He’s the best man I’ve EVER known and I’m still tickled pink we found each other and are on this trail-ride together. And, I’m learning you never really take the cow out of the boy.
Stay tuned for our first rodeo together . . .