While some people collect stamps, teacups, guns, or coins...I collect mothers.
Decades ago, I was in a crisis situation. I was young, I was alone, and I was scared. My future and my safety were uncertain, and I didn't know where to turn. A mother opened her heart and home to me, knowing little more than my first name. From the moment I came through her front door, she enveloped me into one of her classic big warm hugs, and I knew that everything was going to be all right.
Late nights talking. Special meals made just because she knew they were my favorite. Phone calls. Birthday cards every year for not only myself, but my children and spouse, too. Little gifts here and there. A shoulder to cry on if I needed it. Being able to flop down on the couch in her living room any old time...these are what she gave me. In every sense of the word, this woman has become my mother. She had nine natural children of her own, but she tells everyone I'm number ten.
She is the reason I'm wearing pink tonight.
I'm sure that there are millions of stories similar to mine, of women whose lives made a difference to us. The flood of pink that I saw when I was walking up to the Idaho Center for Stampede For The Cure night, the second evening of the Snake River Stampede, attested to that.
Otherwise manly-men were in their pinkest shirts, with no apologies. They jokingly teased each other that they looked like 'Pepto-Bismol nightmares', but no matter. They were wearing it for 'her', whoever that 'her' was to them. And getting dressed up in a pink shirt once a year was the least they could do.
Show me one person who hasn't been touched in some way by breast cancer...I just dare you. If that person even exists, they're a rare breed. The truth is, unfortunately, I'm in the majority. We almost lost my adopted mother about ten years ago to this insidious disease. It was hard to watch her go through it, this person who'd spent her whole life giving so much. It didn't seem fair. But this disease has nothing to do with fair. Tonight we were trying to even the score.
So we might get a little crazy on this night. We might wear temporary tatoos and pink ribbons on our faces and spray paint our bulls and sheep pink. We might wear pink sequined cowgirl hats with feathers and paint our toenails in a neon color; just to show how very much we care. On a night like this, it would be wrong not to.
No small portion of the proceeds from this evening will go toward payment for mammograms for under-insured women right here in the Valley that otherwise wouldn't be getting checked. Early detection is the key, and the mission is to save lives. Tell the women you love in your life that there's no excuse for putting it off anymore; it's covered.
The second night of the Stampede was different than the first.
They still had the mutton-busting to start things off. Hayden Gibbs, who got a score of 85, rode a sheep that ran him right into the ground. The true country kid got up and dusted off and walked away like it was nothing. Miya Pharis got a high score of 88, riding right upside down all the way down the arena.
I'm learning that you can just never predict what an animal is going to do. One of the sheep, not feeling like running that night, trotted around in a circle very slowly. When its rider fell off, it went berserk and ran off at full speed.
Some sheep would throw their riders, then leap into the air, like a gazelle, as if to say, "Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah." (Or, would that be 'Bah, Bah'?)
The announcer said, "In forty-eight states they call this child abuse. We call it 'mutton busting'." The kids get banged up pretty good, but they seem to do it of their own free will, and they smile a lot. Curious.
They still had the lone rider with the flag come into the center of the darkened arena, with the spotlight on her and our Nation's emblem. When the soloist sang the Star Spangled Banner, however, this time the audience not only stood, but joined in. Maybe it was because we had so many of our mothers with us, and they've taught us to be respectful and patriotic. Maybe it was because on that second night, that deeper feeling of community was beginning to soak into our hearts a little more. At any rate, it was wonderful to hear the voices all around us in the dark, singing together. This was no time to let America down. I am happy to report that She still has a heartbeat; and it's a strong one. I heard it.
The Stampeders were next, the lighted equestrian drill team, with their lighted outfits and horses. They are consistently good. I noticed the amount of wind they generated as they ran past us, mixed with that famous Oregon Trail dirt. It was awe-inspiring to be that close to those powerful horses as they flew by.
The Rough Riders Drill Team, another performer of the evening, had pink ribbon decals that were sequined attached to the backsides of their horses. Pink and Proud. The Team had been placed first in the Drill Team competition earlier in the week.
The evening wouldn't be complete without hearing from the Country Junction band, with the Snake River Stampede Theme Song. I asked the cowgirl sitting next to me if the line 'he'll have to loop 'er faster than Cooper' was the same family we were seeing currently. She said that Roy Cooper was a great roper years ago; and that she thought these Cooper boys we were seeing were family. So, after all these years, that line in the song is still relevant.
There was the usual giving of each other a hard time. The friendly jabbing often came from the announcers. To be wearing pink left the door wide open for fun.
"He looks like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol on a horse!"
"He looks just like a Mary Kay salesman!"
But it was all in good fun. I have no doubt that these men didn't mind.
Later in the evening, one of the announcers asked the other,"Are we getting older, or is that event looking tougher?" And the other replied, "Heck, I never wanted to do that, even when I was twelve!"
Radical Rudy Rodriguez and his son did some show-stealing. When they both threw their hats on the ground, they were told by the announcers that they must wear hats at all time, due to the dress code regulations. They both said, "Okay...!" And then the dove forward, head-first into their hats, and did handstands in them. What could anyone say? They were wearing their hats, after all.
It was nice to see the other clown, the one that had gotten thrown in the air by a bull the night before, up and running tonight.
When one bareback rider got a decent score and gave a visibly impressive ride, the announcers said, "Now that's just showin' off right there!"
Some of the barrel racers didn't have the best night; racer after racer was knocking over barrels. The announcers tried to make light of it by saying, "Hit all three and you win a pizza!" or, "We've just turned the barrel racing into a demolition derby!"
This was also the night of the passing of the crown from one Miss Rodeo Idaho to the other. The outgoing queen did the honors, and the new queen was presented with a gorgeous new horse trailer with the words, "MISS RODEO IDAHO 2010" across the sides. There were flowers and silk and glitz everywhere.
Then, the event we'd all been anticipating. The bull riding. I hoped that I wouldn't do what I did the night before...inadvertent exclamations of "Wow. Wow. Wow." But to no avail...I caught myself doing that again. Who wouldn't, with what we were seeing. It was nothing short of astounding. Those bulls were nothing to mess with. Case in point: just get a load of some of their names. 'Devil Duty', 'Velvet Revolver', 'Death Warrant', 'Back Stabber', and 'Triple Threat'. Not to mention the bull that won't be ridden, the infamous 'Johnny Ho'. Johnny Ho, incidentally, got the distinct honor of being the pink bull for this year. He was perfect for the part, being beige in color. I don't think he cared. He was certainly tough enough to wear pink, or any other color for that matter.
Rad Rudy once again took great pleasure in taunting the beasts. He stood atop his clown's barrel and yelled, "Your mother's a cow! And your sister's a heifer!"
When he got down into the barrel and asked the two announcers, "Does this barrel make my rear look big?" the reply was, "Rudy, my friend, you are living proof that we shouldn't clone humans."
The bulls stir everything up. Heart rates increase to a dangerous level. At one point, when a bull knocked one of the clowns off their barrel and almost 'got' him, I thought I was going to pass out. After a bull attacked Rudy's barrel, the announcers asked him if his barrel was okay. Rudy peered into the top and yelled, "My furniture's missing!"
I also noticed while the bull riding was going on that my palms were sweating. It made me as nervous as a job interview where the boss doesn't talk.
These men do this willingly, I told myself. It's sport to them. And they love it enough to keep coming back, year after year, and to do rodeos back-to-back during the entire month of July. It's the age-old "Man Versus Beast". Our ancestors did it, and some of us are still doing it. Some genetics don't ever die out, and thank goodness for that. I can't imagine any one of these cowboys backing down, in a case of needing to defend those they loved. Not a one. They were as tough as the animals they rode. And tonight they were doing it for others who've had to be just that brave. If their mothers, sisters, daughters and wives could stare death in the eye, so could they. The cowboys did it every day; and so do these women.
They are all Tough Enough.
This year the Stampede For The Cure presented a check to be used toward mammograms for our own loved ones, right here at home. The check was in the amount of three-hundred-thousand dollars.
God Bless America.
God Bless Idaho.
God Bless the Snake River Stampede.
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