I had made up my mind to never mention this on my blog, and I will probably regret doing so. But my wife said that I wouldn’t lose too much of the respect of my readers, mostly because I don’t have any. So, here goes.
Most boys who grow up in Texas play cowboy. Some take it further than others, and sometimes it lasts longer than it should.
That was me. Though I could be serious during my teens and twenties—I kept a job and paid for college—I spent much of my time in my own, imaginary world until my mid-twenties. In small town Texas, boys grow up hearing old men talk about rodeo stars much like men in other places talk about professional basketball players. There’s something romantic, even glamorous, about rodeo (in the mind of little boys), and songs like George Strait’s “Amarillo by Morning” only make the delusion stronger. At seventeen, I was being beckoned by the romance. And since I didn’t play football, I had to find another way to prove my manhood. One cold Friday evening, after borrowing a bull rope, spurs, and a cowboy hat, I climbed on my first bucking bull at the historic Kowbell Indoor Rodeo. To the dismay of my parents, that unworthy endeavor continued for years.
This is a past that I rarely talk about. Those who know me now but didn’t know me then are surprised if they find out. “You did that? I can’t imagine.” No, it’s not me anymore. I haven’t even watched a rodeo in years, and I’ve had my fill of horses. But I do have some good memories, and I learned some along the way.
During those years, I often thought about all of the stories that I was accumulating, and I wondered if I might do something with them someday. About two years ago, I wrote a story about one of my horses. That story brought back memories, which led to more stories. Before I knew it, I had 25,000 words worth of stories. My horse story got published in a Texas magazine. Another story placed in a local writing contest. And my local newspaper editor encouraged me to publish all of them in a book. Finally, in April of this year, I did just that.
I wrote the stories that make up Used to Want to be a Cowboy for my own enjoyment, and I published the book for my mom, my children, and the few friends who were in the stories with me (I don’t mention my wife because by the time I was finished, she was understandably sick of the whole project.) It’s not a book that will sell, and it wasn’t meant to be. A lot of it is corny or silly. It could use more editing. The formatting looks unprofessional. Some of it is embarrassing. It’s not profound, edifying, or inspirational, though there are some lessons that might benefit a youngster. But it is honest, it is clean, and it is my story. Those who read it claim to enjoy it, and most can read it in a couple of hours without much mental strain:
“I liked it because of how it held my attention and how it caused me to read it in one sitting. This book never bogged down. Like any good book it left me longing for more,” Gregory Metcalf.
On the surface, Used to Want to be a Cowboy is about amateur rodeo. But the real story is about a young man who, after playing cowboy longer than most, finally realizes that it’s time to grow up. Along the way, you’ll get to know and like my friend Travis, whose rodeo career lasted much longer and was more successful than mine until a bull almost killed him. And you’ll get a glimpse inside the historic Kowbell Indoor Rodeo, where Travis and I spent most of our time outside of work or school. Kowbell’s gone now. And so is that part of my life. But you can read about it all in my book if you like.