Barrel Racing

They'd already been robbed three times. Once, someone busted in a window at their house and took guitars, TVs and such. Second time, it was tools from the garage. This last time, it was my son's big honkin' truck, stolen straight out of the driveway while they slept. The law was called, inventory taken. Then Jon had to head south for a job, so my daughter-in-love and grandbaby were there by themselves.

That evening, just before the sun tipped low in the sky, she called and asked if I could spend the night with them. I packed a small bag and headed there, packing my Taurus 9mm, of course. When I pulled into their driveway, I saw what I will never forget. The baby and her Mama were on the wide front porch. The baby was playing happily, babbling to herself. Mama was sitting in a rocking chair, with a huge shotgun in her lap. She said, "Listen! He's coming back around again. There's a guy in a truck who keeps circling and driving by." Sure enough, I heard ridiculously loud tailpipes coming up the road from a half mile away. I said, "_____ no! Get a bag packed. We are NOT staying here tonight." She really didn't want to leave, because she figured he was trawling for another haul, but I wasn't leaving them there to fend for themselves and I certainly wasn't hanging around to wait for him to do something stupid. We moseyed to Villa Rica town and spent the night at my house. And yes, the creep robbed them again.

When my son married this precious woman, we really didn't know her well, though they had dated a long time. She was quiet, demure, never self-seeking. We knew she was a very good woman, God-fearing and calm. What we didn't know was how she was going to handle our bronco-busting son who was as strong-willed as a bull and over-opinionated about everything. There came a conversation with her spit-fired Grandmama who sidled up to me one day and said, "You ever seen that girl ride a horse?" I said no. "She's the best barrel racer I've ever seen," winking at me. I've seen how that goes -- a fearless, wild woman who whips her horse into a lather and tears around those barrels. I was glad Grandmama cleared that up, because a few things began to make sense. Not that I think it's a woman's job to tame a man, but that boy needed a (loving) hell-cat for a wife. That's what happens when love gets in the picture. In the best loves, both people give way. They die to themselves, they do things they never dreamed they would or could. They just passed their eleventh anniversary, with plenty of mad-dash-rodeos in between. I've seen them go to the edges and back again, but I think they're gonna make it. He loves her something fierce and she loves and respects him back again. She's the good kind, the kind that makes a man better. He's done growed into a real man. I'm his Mama and I'm proud, but I don't know if the results would have been the same if he'd have married a lesser woman. Let that be a lesson to you young fellas. A good man can't ever pull a bad woman up, but a good woman can pull up a fair-to-middling man and make him remarkable. It's old wisdom, passed on to me by folks older and wiser than me.