Last week, a 12-year-old boy, Wayde Hamar, was killed when he was bucked from a bull and stepped on by the 900 lb. animal.  He died of a ruptured left ventricle in his heart.  When questioned about the accident, the mother said that no one was to blame and that Wayde died doing what he loved.

I’m fascinated by the bull riding community.  There is this air of toughness and insanity that rules.  They certainly know that when you strap on your Ariat riding boots and other bull riding gear, it’s go time.  It’s like some strange fraternity with initiation.  They know the danger.  They know their kids can die.  But they are willing to still let them ride.  This rite of passage is like something out of an old western movie with John Wayne.  These kids aren’t content to play with Thomas the Tank Engine toys like their fellow children friends.  No, instead, I need to ride an enormous animal as long as I can until it throws me to the ground.  Then, I have to get up and run for my life, hoping that it doesn’t step on me or gore me to death.  This is a sport?

While I think it’s absolutely crazy, I’m just fascinated by the parents of bull riders.  It is part of their culture, their DNA.  It’s not abnormal.  It’s tough.  It’s rodeo.  Said Angie Hamar, the boys mother, “You can’t keep your kids locked up in a closet. There are some kids who take motocross racing, and we take our kids rodeo riding.”  Wow.  What do you think?