If you want to be cool in the cattle show world, you should start by blasting your music in the stalls.  Maybe it’s a way to get back at your parents, or maybe it’s just for getting pumped up for the show.  Who knows?  If a group of people is listening to really soft country music, like Willie Nelson, for example, they would definitely be considered dorks in this context.  Being part of Opie Campbell’s crew is something I always wanted to do because of his rockin’ sound system that he brings with him to the shows.  Whenever I go to a show, I always try to get my cattle stalled by him.  He is always playing remixes, whether it is pop, rap, or rock.  Artists like Soulja Boy, Nickelback, and Kid Rock are played a lot.  Everyone else at the show just walks past his stalls laughing, because he and his crew know how to par-tay! 

The clothes you wear at a cattle show better be the right ones, or else.  In the show ring, women must wear a shiny belt and belt buckle.  They want to stick out and be fashionable but also fit in by wearing a belt like the guys.  They must also wear tight blue jeans.  There are practical reasons to wearing blue jeans, like wearing them to cover up the dirty spots that appear when fitting the calf.  They are also worn, so you can look like everyone else at the show.   The casual setting of the show calls for casual wear.  The judge is usually the only one with different colored pants on.  Newly polished ostrich boots and a snazzy Wrangler or Cruel Girl shirt tucked into your jeans so your belt shows is also a must.   Cruel Girl brand name shirts and jeans are insinuating that women who wear these are tough and cruel, which is cool in the cattle world.   Women must also wear turquoise or Montana silversmith jewelry and have their hair up in some neat design to be cool.  Men must wear a belt, baggy brand name blue jeans that have dirty knees (to show they did their own work on their calf), brown boots, and a brand name shirt, usually American Eagle or Hollister.  Real farm boys don’t do jewelry and consider looking exactly like each other to be their ultimate goal.  It is not cool to be eccentric or a nonconformist in the livestock world. 

Before going into the show ring, both men and women must be wearing over pants over top of their jeans.  They are usually Columbia name brand or any other expensive kind.  Over pants are usually worn to keep jeans clean for the show.  Some only wear them to be cool, to show they know how to fit their own calf (which most do not).    In this case, they hired someone else to do the work for them, which can also be considered cool, because obviously they have more money than the rest of us.   People who do not wear these items of clothing are definitely uncool.  They would get talked about and made fun of quite often.  Rumors could get started on how ridiculously silly that person looked.  Someone might even point them out in the make-up arena in front of a whole bunch of “cool” people.  That would be tragic!

The equipment used is a key component in order to be cool.  It is important to use products that are up to date and not from the 1970’s when my parents were showing.  For example, a double blower nowadays is a must.  The new double blower cuts the dry time on the calf in half.  Having a “cool room” is also a good feature to include in a barn.  Cool rooms make calves grow more hair, which is very critical at a show.  People, and even judges, consistently comment on the amount of hair a calf has, and that is cool.  Not having this new equipment would be like a person still using an outdated “house phone” style cell phone, and wondering why people are staring at them and ridiculing them.  Staying up to date with technology is very important.

 Going out the night before the show and staying out late, then waking up at five o’clock the next cold morning to rinse calves is the shizz also.   I know a guy who worked for a ranch that didn’t get out of bed the next morning.  and man, was he ever sorry.  He didn’t make it there to help fit for the show or even see the show.  His boss obviously was fed up because we did not see him the rest of the week!  Most people cannot stay out late the night before a show because they cannot get their lazy butts out of bed the next morning, but the ones who do are considered legends.

The people you hang out with at the show is a major part of being cool.  The cool people at the cattle shows are called “steer jocks” or “cattle jocks.” Steer jocks know how to do everything necessary at a cattle show.  To be seen with a jock would be like being seen with Emeril for people who love cooking, or like being seen with Peyton Mannning for people who love football.  The uncool people at the shows are called freddies, coming from the term, freddie 4-H’er, meaning one is at the level of a county fair showman.  County fair showmen have no skill because they have never experienced the world outside their annual county show.  Freddies use the equipment the wrong way, or just do something for no reason.  For example, a blower is used to dry the calf and then fluff the calf.  A calf’s hair is always blown in a forward motion, and one needs to get the calf “bone dry,” as cattle jocks would say.  A freddie would normally blow the hair straight up or in a swirling motion for ten minutes, not getting to the “hidden” parts, like the belly, the brisket, or the insides of legs.  “Cool” jocks know that the calf is not dry and know a freddie when they see one!!  Being labeled a freddie would be synonymous with geek, nerd, dweeb, or the ever-famous Steve Urkel!  Ewww!  I remember a cool jock who once said laughing, while the freddie’s calf was getting away, “Hang on, man!” That is just a sarcastic comment to make when the freddie is clearly already having a bad day. 

I had similar experience at the Ohio State Fair back in 2003 when I showed a bull that was behaving like a complete imbecile.  His name was Lager, and I will never forget the day he darted away from me and sprinted across the show arena, dragging me in front of hundreds of people watching from the grandstand.  I was at the end of the halter, scared out of my mind.  While I was skiing across the arena, I got mulch thrown in my face and excruciatingly painful rope burns on my hands.   I did not want to let go, so I held on.  This was not one of my brighter decisions, and man, did I pay!  This was definitely uncool.  I filed it away under “what not to do if you want to be cool,” but it did show I was tough because I hung on tight, baby!

The last and most vital way to be cool is to win, win, win!  I have had winning years and losing years.  In 2001, I showed Sidney, my favorite heifer still to this day.  She was champion thirteen times that year.  I got so many awards I couldn’t even take it!  People who never even spoke to me before talked to me after I did all that winning.  I wonder why?  Hmmm….  But, I also remember a losing year quite well.  I placed dead last at the NAILE, a national show, with my red-roan heifer Reggie.  There were twenty-five heifers in my class, and I was D A L, for those of you who know that saying.  It was very devastating to me, and to the heifer I think.  To be cool in the cattle show world is to be able to identify a freddie when you see one, and to hopefully know you are not one yourself!

This upcoming family reunion was causing me quite a bit of anxiety.  I mean, my husband hadn’t seen his brother in twenty-four years.  His last memory of his mom wasn’t so great.  He’d never even met his half-sisters.  All I knew were the horror stories I had heard about his childhood before he was adopted.

His mother was absolutely crazy.  When he was five years old, she used to leave him at home to watch over his three younger brothers while she went to the bar.  She’d married some psycho that beat her kids up, eventually putting Brad in a coma.  From what anyone knew, she’d had seven kids and not actually raised any of them.

This was completely opposite from my own childhood.  Home life, for me, was the picture of stability.  My parents had been married for twenty-five years.  There had never been any abuse in my home.  I certainly had never been left alone to care for younger siblings at five years old.  To me, that just seemed, well, crazy.

Brad was excited to see his brother again, and I couldn’t blame him for that.  Actually, it was quite the opposite.  Family is very important to me, but I guess I have a rather narrow view of what a family should be.

Brad excitedly prepared for the big day, packing all of our things, telling the girls about their new uncle, Anthony.  He and his wife, Renee, had been married for six years, just like us, and had a new baby.  I’d spoken to him briefly on the phone. He had a loud, booming voice that reminded me of a friendly teddy bear.

I was apprehensive anyway.  I worried about whether or not they would like me.  I worried about what this experience would do to my husband if it didn’t go the way he wanted.  Mostly, though, I worried about their values, and if I felt comfortable exposing my kids to them.

Anyway, one fine autumn day, we loaded up the car and started on the long drive to Circleville.  The leaves had changed to bright oranges and yellows, and the sun was shining as we drove along.  It seemed, though, that the nearer we got to our destination, an evil pall fell over the sky.  It steadily darkened, the closer we got.  Thick, grey clouds rolled in, piling on top of each other like huge heaps of rubble from an atomic explosion.  A cold wind picked up and was buffeting around the car, ever stronger.  The temperature seemed to have dropped about twenty degrees.

We checked into a cheap Knights Inn and tried to relax in the dingy room.  It had the musty odor of stale cigarettes, and I uncomfortably settled on the cheap bed linens.  I half expected a portrait of dogs playing poker hanging on the wall.  Brad flicked the TV on, and I waited nervously for the phone call from his brother.

Several hours later, it came.  I had almost managed to forget what we were doing there and had started to relax, but I was jarred back to reality with the jangling of the phone.  Suddenly, apprehension washed over me like a sickening tidal wave, decimating everything in its path.  My head started to throb, and I felt my pulse quicken.  I started to flit anxiously around the room, doing anything I could to keep myself busy.  I changed the girls’ clothes, washed their faces and combed their hair.  Their freshness and innocence struck me as I finished.

All too soon, we heard a knock on the door.  The knot of nervousness tightened in my stomach.  My husband opened the door and stood face to face with his brother, who was at this point a perfect stranger.  They stood there, one in the doorway, one out, eyeing each other awkwardly.  After a moment, they spoke.

“Hey, man, good to see you!”  Half-hugs and handshakes followed.

Anthony and his wife came in, lugging their young baby’s carrier.  Brad almost had the door shut when in walked his duplicate, only about twenty-five years older.  I saw what looked like my husband’s blue eyes twinkle at me merrily from above a bushy grey beard, but there were tiny tears glistening just in the corners.  This was my husband’s father, who he hadn’t known since he was about three.

Introductions were made, kids and babies were kissed, and introductions were made to new aunts, uncles, and grandpa.  Stories were told about when the boys were little.  They’d take off on their bikes for hours at a time.  Brad would take his grandparents’ hamsters out of their cages and hide them all around the house.  Anthony talked about the little fistfights they got into when they were small.  The knot that had threatened my ability to hold down my lunch slowly and steadily began to loosen.  The girls were playing, enjoying all the attention.  Their family seemed not too much different from my own, except for the twenty-four missing years.  It felt strange, though, to see my husband in this new light, with this new family that I wasn’t yet sure I was a part of.

Soon after, Anthony suggested that his wife and I go get “the girls,” meaning their half-sisters.  Instantly, the knot in my stomach recoiled, almost knocking the breath out of me.  I glanced nervously at Brad, but he seemed unwilling to catch my eyes. 

“Yeah, Amie’ll go with you.  Go get my sisters!”

I didn’t want to offend anyone, but my husband knew my feelings about this.  While I had my apprehensions about these girls, more importantly, they lived with their mother.  I didn’t see how we were going to go get them without running into her.  Once again, I kept my mouth shut, and we piled into the car.  Renee started talking to me about her experiences with the girls.

“They’re all right, just sort of wild.  I really feel sorry for them.  The youngest one looks like a slut, and the older one, she’s just always trying to get attention, and complaining when she doesn’t get it.  Their mom, though. . . I never really know how to act around her,” she said.

My breath rushed out of me in a gust of relief.  “Yeah, I’ve been worried about that.  I’ve always heard such awful things about her.  I just don’t know how I’m supposed to react to all that.”

“I just pretend to get along with her.  I mean, all that stuff she put Anthony through as a kid. . . I pretend it’s cool, but it’s really not.”

We made the all-too-short drive across town to pick up the girls.  As we pulled into the parking lot, my stomach clenched in knots and my throat constricted.  The air in the car was smoky, obscuring my view of the outside.  I looked to my left, at the sister/stranger sitting next to me, and a visceral punch of apprehension flickered across my body.  My companion spoke to the woman approaching the car, her voice light.  “Hey, Linda, this is Amie, Brad’s wife.” 

The woman pushed her straggly hair out of her blue eyes, “Who?  Who’s that?” 

“Brad’s wife.”

A grunt for a response, and she shuffled off toward her door.  The knot in my stomach wrenched itself even tighter.  The door swung open again, and a dark- haired girl walked out, wearing a coat that looked about five times too large for her.  She got in the car and started talking, but I was so uncomfortable I didn’t notice what was being said.  My thoughts were reeling from the sight of the girl’s mother, my husband’s mother.  I looked around, taking in the run-down apartments, the trash on the ground, and the people wandering by with vacant looks on their faces. 

A young blond girl bounced out of the opened door.  It opened once more, and there was some yelling between mother and daughter, about God knows what.  My sense of dread increased, and a feeling of awkwardness pressed upon me like a weight.   The girl jumped into the car.  Introductions followed, still rather uncomfortable.  The girls were excited to meet the brother they’d only just learned about and never met. 

The ride back to the hotel was awkward.  I spoke little, staring out the window as the unfamiliar, ugly streets slid by.  To me, the sights looked barren and desolate.  We moved out toward the shopping center, and the artificial lights seemed to force a gaudy gaiety.  As we pulled into the hotel parking lot, I resigned myself to this new phase of the reunion. 

We exited the car and walked into the room, which was now full of this new family, this family my husband did not know.  I smiled slightly at my new brother-in-law and father-in-law, and hurriedly crossed the room to my kids.  I pulled them in a tight, close hug, breathing them in, feeding off their innocence. 

The other girls, on the other side of the room, began to talk to their new brother about the life he’d missed out on.  They spoke of their mother, of her endless moves and marriages.  There was discussion of the other siblings, seven all together.  Four of them were in the room together now.  Where were the other three?  Were there more?  No one was sure, but it seemed likely there were.  Had she ever married Miller?  No, they never actually got married.  What about Johnson?  Yes, but just for a short time.  One of the brothers, supposedly, had died of a drug overdose; he could only have been about 15 or so at the time.  But who knows, maybe it didn’t happen that way at all.  Mom would never acknowledge any of this. 

Throughout all this, I retreated further and further into myself and my children.  It was all I could do to keep from thinking about what I was hearing.  The horror of the girls’ stories touched me to the core, and yet I didn’t like them.  The way they yelled at each other, arguing and cursing, sickened me, and yet I felt sorry for the lives they must have lived.  The cigarette smoke filled the room like a poisonous vapor, choking the innocence out of those sweet souls, my daughters that I held close to me.

Finally, the girls started to talk to Brad about meeting his “mother.”  I was astonished that, after all we had heard, he would even consider this.  I was even more amazed when he agreed.  Sadly, it seemed like that indefinable dread, that sense of a storm brewing that was so repellant to me was somehow so appealing to my husband.  I snuggled up in the smelly double bed with my daughters, wishing for the weekend to be over so we could go back to our cozy little home. 

As I lay there, the expanse of dirty carpet between my husband’s new family and his old one seemed to expand with each breath I took, separating us ever further.  Brad and his sisters stood up and began to put on their coats, and he prepared to walk back into the life of the woman who had caused him so much pain as a child, leaving us behind.  Once they had gone, I could almost feel that each passing mile physically separating us was also separating our two hearts.  I was left to contemplate the value of what I had lying there with me, my precious little girls, and wondered how what he would find could possibly be worth more.