Sikestonians and the Rodeo

I have reached a point in my life where I live on my own and have to make time to go home. Alex is also in my same situation and we take turns visiting each other’s families. This creates quite the dilemma during holidays when we want to spend Christmas with each other as well as our families that just so happen to live 500 miles apart. But the one holiday that is never debated on where it will be spent is the one that falls in the beginning of August every year- Rodeo.

There are always questions that you never have to ask because you should know the answer. The people that ask these rhetorical questions are typically teachers or sarcastics (yep, made that word up but I like it here). Anyone else that is seriously presenting one of these questions should probably just be answered with one of the most popular rhetorical questions of all: “why are you so stupid.” When it comes to Sikestonians, there is a list of these questions that need not be asked. Here are a few of my favorites (I’ll even include the answers for my non-Sikestonian readers):

1. Are you going to join Red Peppers? The answer is always, yes. Duh. Not only am I joining, but I’ll be a legacy. Potentially a double or triple legacy. And now I’ll just assume that you are from out of town or a transfer student. You’re welcome for filling you in so you can be sure to join now as well. See you at the Tea.
2. Do you want to go eat at Lambert’s? No. Absolutely not- unless I’m hosting out-of-town visitors that have never been or some big celebratory occasion that does not fall during holidays, summer, rodeo, or any other major tourism time. Even then, I’ll probably have to think about it…
3. Should I wear shoes to run an errand? No. Every gas station and liquor store, as well as the donut/ice cream shop and the dry cleaners have a drive-thru. No need to get out of the car and into civilization for anything. Period.
4. Are you going to Rodeo? Simply put, this is my favorite question and I refuse to answer because any true Sikestonian will be talking, preparing, shopping, and pregaming for the annual festivity long before the performance comes to town- leaving no room for questioning or misunderstanding.

Needless to say, my 23^rd year at rodeo was just as fabulous as the previous 22. This year was the 61^st anniversary for the Sikeston Jaycee Bootheel Rodeo and the 20^th anniversary of my dad’s year as chairman of the rodeo. After being raised on the rodeo grounds, it gets in your blood- and you can’t help but smile through the mud on your freshly shined boots, and the push-your-way-through-drunken-debaucheries just to get a hot dog, and fighting back screams when the rope folds perfectly around that left horn. There’s just somethin bout that damned ole rodeo.

Last year was Alex’s first rodeo experience and though he had a good time, I think he was a little shocked. But this year, he was a true sophomore in knowing exactly what he was getting into and being prepared for a great time. As the reunion commenced, he jumped right in like a local. After the first night we agreed that we should save all our vacation days next year to be there the entire week….but after the third night, it was clear that rodeo is a fleeting event once a year for a very good reason. And I think we’re perfectly fine with only staying for a few days instead.

My dad once said that Spence and I were unlucky to have been raised by a father who doesn’t get into sports like baseball and football, instead hauling us into the rodeo lifestyle. I never saw it as unlucky by any measure. It’s a blessing that I’m proud of- and that’s why rodeo will always be my favorite holiday that will never be disputed.

Until next year, LONG LIVE COWBOYS.

Oh and in case you missed the clown being damned for making fun of Obama during the Missouri State Fair rodeo performance, you probably don’t have to ask a Sikestonian how they feel about that either. Take a joke and stop crying “racism” at every little poke. Comedians have used political figures and celebrities for their sketches for years because they are people that we all recognize. Wouldn’t be nearly as funny if the clown had impersonated his uncle because not many people could relate to a stranger. When people make fun of George W. Bush and Lindsay Lohan, it’s not because they’re white; it’s because it’s funny. Get the chip off your shoulder…oh, and welcome to America- we support free speech here…most of the time.

Just because I don’t want to end on a bad note, I’ll leave you with this link to a blog that will surely lift your spirits and restore your faith in humanity…probably not without a few good tears: http://thoughtcatalog.com/2013/19-displays-of-love-affection-inspiration-thatll-make-you-cry/

Love always,

Addie

“Everyone knows the Sikeston rodeo is like a fashion show. And you’d better show up.” -Momma

Architects and Destroyers

I was privileged enough to get to spend the entire day with my dad last Sunday (which happened to be Fathers day). But before I share a little bit of our insightful conversation from the day with you, I must first paint the picture of my dad for those of you who don’t know him:

My dad and I are “on the same wavelength,” so to speak. We tend to understand what each other means without many words and we laugh at the same things. However, unlike my dad, I am not the “modern day John Wayne” that he is known to be. And I mean that in all seriousness. No matter how hot it gets, he wears long-sleeved button downs and jeans almost every day, he doesn’t stray far from his pistol, and he even rocks the “denim on denim.” Tomatoes and potatoes are “maters and taters,” and his accent can sometimes cause problems when we are ordering at restaurants. His “ice tea” was once mistaken for an “asti” better known as asti spumante.

Going to the lake was always interesting because he wore boots with his swimming trunks. He claimed that he didn’t know how to walk in sandals because “they just keep slippin’ off my feet!” and he refused to wear the “ninja turtle shoes” that mom bought him a few years ago. All I can say is thank God for Sperrys. They are the only other shoes that he will wear besides his boots. (And they look much better with his swimming trunks.) Also, this past weekend at my cousins wedding, he told my uncle (the father of the bride) that he was sure that I would not make him wear those terrible, shiny “Bob Barker” shoes to my wedding, whenever that day came.

Here are some wise words that my daddy once told me: “A cowboy is not a person, but a way of life. It’s not someone who plays pool all night and drinks ‘til they fall over. It’s not necessarily someone who wears the hat and chases the buckles in the big circuit either. Cowboy, to me, means a hard work ethic, good morals, values the environment, and loves animals and kids. That’s why I’m not a true, cowboy ‘cause I don’t like kids ‘less they’re mine.”

The fact that my dad doesn’t like babies has always been a long standing joke in our family because for some reason babies usually really like my dad, but as he says “unless they’re my own, I don’t want anything to do with them.” Honestly, I don’t think that my dad doesn’t like kids in general—he just doesn’t like crying kids. But he likes to stay on the safe side, so his “signature move” to keep babies at bay from him is to stomp his foot really loud. After that, kids usually don’t want to have anything to do with him. “Works every time.”

My girl friends all think my dad is funny, though maybe a little quite at times, and most of my guy friends think he is “cool,” as Jeff once quoted. But people that don’t know him very well think he’s intimidating, and I can’t quite figure out why. Truthfully, my dad is a giant goofball, but for some reason he finds amusement in the fact that he is capable of intimidate people. I guess it’s a dad thing.

Now that you have somewhat of a mental picture of my dad, I will go on with my original intent: to share with you an excerpt from our conversation last Sunday. (I will not post this in conversation form; I’m just going to write it as a general thought.)

American Cowboy magazine (one of the many magazines that my dad subscribes to, go figure) recently did an article about Ted Turner, the entertainment mogul, better known as the “mouth of the south.” In his interview, Turner discussed his views on people’s actions. Here’s a little summary of what he said: We (the human race) have been responsible for creating wonderful and beautiful things like the Mona Lisa and Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony, but we’re also responsible for things like the holocaust. When Turner spoke of the comparison, he meant it in a forgiving manner, to show that though humans have done bad things, we are also capable of good things. I like to think of it like this: you are in control of yourself and all of your actions- take responsibility. You can be the hinge of fate for everyone’s destiny- an architect of goodness and justice, or the destroyer- it’s ultimately up to you.

It absolutely blows my mind that some people can hurt people and not think a thing of it. On the same token, we can hurt people every day and not even realize it. Always be conscious what you say and how you react. Chain reactions occur from people’s decisions, so always have good intentions in whatever you do. Karma is a b**** -don’t forget it!

I know that’s really random but Ted Turner has a pretty cool article in the magazine that is worth reading. And I know that my dad really had nothing to do with the whole point of it all, but hey, he’s a pretty entertaining guy so I just felt the need to share a little bit of him. I think we were actually taking about the article because it also said that Turner owns the worlds largest bison herd…and so, of course, dad wants to add bison to the zoo that we already keep. Anyways, hope you all are having a great day! Don’t get too hot, but get outside and soak up some vitamin D- it’s got good antioxidants!

Love always,

Addie

“The reason people find it so hard to be happy is that they always see the past better than it was, the present worse than it is, and the future less resolved than it will be.” –Marcel Pagnol