This past Tuesday, I lost my favorite uncle- Uncle Bob. It's always hard to understand why the people closest to us are taken, but honestly, he is probably incredibly happy up in heaven now- I'm sure having a lot of laughs with his favorites, John Wayne and Elvis. A few years ago, I shared one of my favorite memories with my students. It's one they always requested to hear time and time again. This special memory is about my Uncle Bob and a little black bull, Blackie, and I felt it fitting to share it with all of you now.


I was sitting on this block of wood attached to my Uncle Bob’s tractor. My little brother, Jordan, was next to me clutching my cousin, Jennifer’s, hand. My other cousin, Megan, who was four, was sitting on my lap and starting to tremble. I looked up to see that Uncle Bob had hopped off the trailer and was now standing in front of us with a big bag of treats for the cows who were running right for the tractor. They knew what our visit meant . . . food time!

He looked right into my eyes and said, “Well, Stephanie, you ready to show these guys how to do it?” I knew what he was talking about, but I played dumb. I was the oldest and always chosen to show these young ones how to do everything, which was usually a great opportunity to show off. This time, however, I was a little nervous. These cows weren’t looking very patient today. Uncle Bob took out one of the cow treats from the front pocket of his worn overalls and put it in my hand. Megan flew into his arms, which was a hint for me to stand up. The cows had formed a semi-circle around us, and I looked around carefully, trying to choose the nicest one.

Right at the head of the bunch was a little black cow; he looked innocent enough, considering his size. I began to walk towards him, and suddenly felt more confident. This guy was small, no bigger than my brother, he’s got to be harmless. As I got closer I could feel his hot breathe on my hand and saw that he was completely locked in on his brown treat. I couldn’t help but wonder what was so good about his snack; to me, it just looked like a dried up turd shaped like a bullet. I stepped forward one more foot, looked into the cow’s big black eyes, and reached my hand out to feed him his treat. His mouth instantly covered my hand with sticky, slimy slobber, and I could feel his tongue reaching for my hand. He finally found it and retreated his tongue with his treat happily inside.

I turned around, feeling successful, and began walking right back to tiny Megan with a big grin on my face and my head held high. I could see into her bright green eyes that she was waiting for me to say something. I exclaimed, “See, it’s not that bad.” Her face relaxed and I could even see her lips start to curl up in an excited and relieved smile. It didn’t last but a few seconds after I said that last word, when all of a sudden Megan’s green eyes got really big and her mouth dropped. I didn’t completely understand her change of face . . . until I felt it.

What happened next was a harsh collision between that cute black cow’s head and my seven-year-old butt. I went from standing there with a grin, feeling like I had stood my ground and proven my bravery, to flying up in the air with a sore rear. Those few seconds in the air, I was so confused. Why am I flying? Why do I feel a numbing pain in my tailbone? I collapsed onto the few patches of grass and dried dirt, and realized that I had misjudged my cow. He was no cow at all, in fact, but a young bull. I looked back at my headbutter and sneered. It surprised me that a cow, er bull, was capable of maintaining a smirk on his face. . We called him “Blackie,” and he had many other stories after this day, but today, I had to keep my composure and again prove that I was strong enough to handle him.

I stood up, wiped my butt off, and slowly made my way back to the wooden platform attached to that tractor, trying not to cry, but not able to force a full smile. All six eyes were on me, and I was somehow able to mutter, “No problem.” Uncle Bob, who was trying to hold back his laughter, poked me in the chest and said, “Now that thar was a bull- I told you to feed a cow!” And out came all the chuckles he had been holding in. I couldn’t help but smile, and the youngens followed suit. Too bad all that laughter couldn’t heal my bruised tailbone. I couldn’t sit for a few days after that one. Dang bull.