“Do you rodeo?”
Truly, if I had a dollar even every other time I have been asked this question, I’d have enough dollars to pay a few months of overpriced rent in my Washington, D.C. apartment. As a kid the question confused me, as an angsty teenager it annoyed me, and now as a guy in my early twenties, my only grievance is I don’t get to answer it in-depth more often.
Scott Snedecor is a man who is always seen in a cowboy hat, but figuratively wears quite a few. To some, he is a four-time world champion cowboy, an invaluable decorated horse trainer, a coach, a level-headed reasoner, an honest businessman, someone who is as solid as his handshake and a loyal-to-the-end friend. Luckily, I get to watch him juggle all of these responsibilities flawlessly because to me, he is one hell of a dad. He has spent millions of hours in an arena becoming an expert in his trade, more than twenty years consistently at the top of the leader board competing against the world’s most seasoned rodeo athletes and mentored countless individuals who receive more attention for their success than he ever will himself. If you met me after meeting my father, the question I led with is not an unreasonable one to ask. But the answer I’ve concluded is not one many see coming – after all, it took me around twenty years to figure it out myself.
For people who met me before my dad, it makes less sense. After graduating from Texas Tech, I left for D.C. to start a career. Since then, I’ve spent time in the press shop at the White House, Fox News, and now I shuffle politicians around the Republican National Committee as a part of their media affairs team. It isn’t uncommon for me to put on a suit and tie for a fancy dinner or take a detour on my walk home because of a political protest. My life is drastically different from the one my dad walks, but we have arrived at our different places because of a few similar reasons. I grew up bouncing from rodeo to rodeo with a living quarters trailer and at least three horses in the back at all times. This had its ups and downs for sure. I saw so many incredible places and met people who the salt of the Earth will never begin to describe how great they are. But what I have found is someone does not need to be interested in rodeo to take away the lessons I learned from a cowboy. If you watched me try to ride a horse or saw me on the street in black skinny jeans and white vans, you’d never know it was the cowboy way of life that has gotten me everywhere I have been. Even today, the only time I don’t like my feet planted on the ground is in an airplane or on a rooftop pool.
I think people preconceive a few things before they ask why I don’t rodeo.
First, people always assume I am breaking a tradition that never existed in the first place. My dad was raised by bankers from South Houston. I am positive that if he were to have said he wanted to be an astronaut instead of a cowboy when he was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, my dad would probably be in space instead of some patch of dirt in the middle of the states. My short answer to the question is, “It really isn’t my thing, but I am glad it is his!”
Every now and then, I will watch the smile off someone’s face slide away when they figure out I didn’t choose the life my dad did. Most times, the next question I am asked is if my choice to not participate is disappointing to my dad. I am here to say it loud, clear, proud and incredibly thankful, the answer is no.
Sure my dad tried to teach me how to swing a rope and ride a horse when I was little, but when he realized our interests weren’t the same he began teaching me something so much more important. He sat me in a Ford dually for eighteen summers in a row and gave me a front row seat to the purest version of someone chasing their dreams and literally stopping and nothing to get there. Even once he got there, I watched him turn around and do it again, and again, and again.
I watched a man quietly wake up early and sneak out of the trailer to make sure the horses had feed and water and his kids had fresh donuts on the counter before they woke up. He performed under any condition, lost gracefully and won humbly. He was slow to anger and quick to forgive, and even on a bad day never talked unkind behind someone’s back. When I couldn’t be there, he paid the extra cash to fly home between performances to watch me strike out at a little league baseball game and my sister hit every barrel at a playday that’s biggest prize was a horse bucket with a sticker on it.
Sure, the competitor inside of him wanted us to always win. But what mattered the most to him wasn’t filling the house with saddles and shiny gold buckles in shadow boxes. What mattered the most to him was the family that lived inside of it. He had every opportunity to choose an easier path, but he consistently chose to be a dad first which is a lesson I will never, ever let slip my mind. He always went big, and then he went home.
Although his talent is rare, the way he carried himself was not. Almost every one of the men he brought around was just the same. I was raised by these people, I understand these people, and I love these people – I just never really belonged in the same place as these people and they all understood it. They understood where you come from has nothing to do with where you will go, but everything to do with how you will act on the way there.
When I thought I was an athlete, they played catch with me after every rodeo. When I decided to go to college at a place most had never been, they proofread my application essays. When I needed an internship, they had me convinced that if the White House didn’t accept me they were silly. When I needed a job, it only made sense to them for me to work for the top news network in the world. They knew I was useless on a horse but did all they could to make sure I was at the top of whatever game I was playing and set a concrete example of what it took to get there.
To the hundreds of people who make up my rodeo family, thank you! I could not be more grateful for the lessons I learned just by watching you live the lives you do. I am surrounded by people with Ivy League degrees who will never understand what you taught me. No matter where I go or what I end up doing, I will always be thankful I was raised as a grandstand kid.
So for the next person that asks: No, I don’t rodeo. I wasn’t just raised by a cowboy, I was raised by a world champion – I’ve learned more from him than any horse will ever teach me.