With a gentle nod of appreciation to the rich history of Spanish Rodeo, the American Spirit of the Rodeo began in the 1860s. During the annual roundup and branding of cattle, working cowboys competed in informal contests. Since then, rodeo has established itself as a way of life for millions of people in North America and beyond. With over 2,000 rodeos annually in North America, the Spirit of the rodeo is alive and well.

In 1975, I went to my first rodeo. It was at the American Royal in Kansas City, Missouri. Beautiful women were riding horses through barrels and poles and racing the arena with the state and national flags. Manly men scratched themselves and rode 2000 lb. angry bulls.

I had no idea that 25 years later I would be putting Hanes briefs on goats as one of a number of gay rodeo events. From that fateful day at the age of five, I was hooked by the Spirit of the Rodeo. I knew I wanted to rodeo… or at least be around all those hot men in chaps.

It was also the first time I had ever heard the song, “I Will Always Love You.” I was completely spellbound as this blond diva stood up on the makeshift stage and belted out the national anthem and then sang her later-to-be-made-famous-by-Whitney-song, “I Will Always Love You.” I couldn’t help but know that I would always be hooked on the rodeo. Large breasted bleach blond divas and burly men with tight butts. What more could a boy of five want?

Like most sports, rodeo hasn’t always moved with the pace of society. It was not until 1971 that the Rodeo Hall of Fame inducted its first African-American, Bill Pickett. Pickett was the son of former slaves, and from 1870 to 1932 embodied the Spirit of the Rodeo. There is even a Black Rodeo named after him, the Pickett Rodeo, which raises monies for scholarships for black students in rodeo, veterinary or animal science programs.

It was not until 1988 at the Calgary Olympic Games, and again in Salt Lake City in 2002, that rodeo played to sell out crowds. Even still, rodeo is not an official part of the Olympics.

Well, the Spirit of the Rodeo was embodied in another famous first, Phil Ragsdale. Ragsdale was the Court Emperor in Reno, Nevada and decided in 1975 — the same year I fell in love with men in chaps and Dolly — that it was time for gay rodeo. His dream of developing a gay rodeo to raise money for local charities (the Muscular Dystrophy Association and the local Senior Citizens’ Thanksgiving Day feed) took him over a year to realize.

True to the Spirit of the Rodeo, Ragsdale persevered. Nearly 30 years later, over a thousand gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgender rodeo folk competed in 20 Gay Rodeos in North America. From Arkansas to Austin (see, Bill and W do have something in common), from our Nation’s Capital to our State Capital, and from the Heart of the Old West to the Heart of the New West, Gay Rodeo crosses the entire North American continent.

When I think about what Emperor I of Reno did for the GLBT community, I am honored every time I mount a steer, wrestle one to the ground, or put on a sassy frock to compete in the Wild Drag Race. We don’t often think of the Imperial Court as being a breeding ground for the Western lifestyle, but what drag queen’s repertoire would be complete without something from Dolly, Reba or Shania?

When I was Mr. GSGRA in 2001, Ms. GSGRA, Deena Dawn, did the most extraordinary Dolly impersonation. It was spellbinding. But the real point is that she did it night after night, fundraiser after fundraiser. She embodied the Spirit of the Rodeo — both gay and straight.

Two years ago, our country came to a screeching halt, suffering the greatest attack on American soil in the last 50 years. My younger brother is a police officer in Arlington, Virginia and was on duty that morning. It was very personal. Within minutes, details of the four flights flashed across our televisions. If anyone wonders what the Spirit of the Rodeo is, it is about being thrown off and getting right back on again.

A week before this national tragedy, my older brother and his wife brought my five-year-old niece to the Show Me State Gay Rodeo. My niece was five. Like me at age five, this was her first introduction to rodeo — and gay rodeo, at that. As the announcer explained steer riding (a warm-up to bull riding), my niece sat poised on the edge of her seat. “When is Uncle Brian going to ride?”

Earlier that day, I had walked Sara around and introduced her to a number of familiar faces on the gay rodeo circuit. Sara petted the horses and gazed at the goats, not knowing that they would later be tackled to put Hanes briefs on their hind legs. You could see that she was just beginning to be touched by the Spirit of the Rodeo.

During my not-quite-six-second ride, I was thrown from the steer and found myself under its hooves, with a crushed double forearm fracture. I was placed in an ambulance and rushed to the hospital. The last thing I remember through the morphine haze was my niece blowing kisses to me.

Later that week, my niece’s teacher called my brother to discuss Sara’s new playground activity. Apparently, she was playing rodeo. In this game, one person was designated to blow the whistle to start the ride. The rider was to keep one hand on the seesaw and wave to the crowd with the other. At some point, the rider fell to the ground. At that point, a doctor came and took the rider away. (My first thought was: “Leave it to my niece to find a new way to play doctor.”)

This was Sara’s idea of rodeo. She was hooked. She had been moved by the Spirit of the Rodeo. In January, my cell phone rang while I was at the Phoenix Rodeo. Recognizing the number, I answered the phone. It was Sara: “Uncle Brian, thank you for the Cowgirl Barbie doll. What are you doing?” she asked. I told her I was at the Phoenix Rodeo. Her next question? “What hospital are you at?”

Oh, from the mouths of babes.

I still wonder if she noticed the hot guys in the chaps.