Do I have a story to tell you … But it’s a little embarrassing, so go easy on me.

I was not happy as I followed my 10-year-old daughter from the show ring back to the barns. Between me and her and the halter in her hand, lumbered the stout, gentle tank of a 4-H steer that I figured was likely the best show steer we’d probably ever raise on our place.

The twitch of butterflies in my stomach reminded me I was nervous. I shifted in my saddle to ease the tension in my knees and in my gut. Reba, whose mother was named Dolly, sensed my anxiety and danced as I waited for the announcer to read my name.

As we evolve and learn to deal with whatever life throws at us, our true character is shaped and defined.

My husband is great at judging distances. Time is another story entirely.

When I was growing up, I figured I’d be a dancer and a musician. Little did I know I would grow up to become … Gate Girl!

As the bus rolled up to the high school gym on that cold, late-February Saturday night, I cracked my aching joints and unraveled myself from the nonexistent comforts of the third seat behind Russ, the ever-patient driver of Cassia County Joint School District bus number 9.

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