Don't Judge the Rust

For: Dad

Learning is messy, but the process and the end result are invaluable!  Nineteen years, three kids, and many animals later, that rusted white hunk of metal on wheels is sold.  

“Stop them Britt,” yelled dad as my feet tried to gather traction in the mud.  My lanky self lugged a big wooden board for herding pigs to the corner of our pen and, with all my strength, I tried to stop “Cookies and Cream” from getting out.  She was not having it. The seven year old girl lost the battle with pig.  As a glanced over my shoulder, I saw my family rush over and begin to herd her back to the pen so that we could try again.  This time, two lanky girls (my sister and I) built a wall that was sure to hold her in.  Still no success.  Three tries, a few slips, and several frustrated glances later, all three pigs had boarded the white hunk of metal.  A week of fun was ahead.  Perseverance and hard work were in the making.  We wiped the sweat and mud mixture off of our foreheads and piled into my dad’s small single cab Mitsubishi.  With that white hunk of mental on wheels behind us we made the hour long trek to the county fair.  These moments are what we call “Quality Family Time.” 

I hate to call it an “eye sore,” but as we pulled up to the line to check in our animals, we were anything but in style.  In fact, if “What Not to Wear” was in the country trailer business, we would definitely be their target audience.  I think back on times I was embarrassed by our make shift ways, but then look at pictures of my permed hair, glasses, and amazing 90’s style only to realize that I was not doing much better.  In fact, those embarrassing memories are now treasured memories that make my growing up unique and special. 

As I looked around through a fog of dust and straw, I saw true farmers in real boots, with pricey show animals, fancy trailers, and even fancier show boxes.  For a family of teachers, we were not in the business of showing. However, thanks to friends from school and the local 4-H, we were given the opportunity to give it a go.  Lots of duct tape, bungee cords, and spray bottles full of electrolytes for hydrating our animals were our staples.  Tied to our white hunk of metal on wheels, we sud-zed up sheep, pigs, and dairy heifers so that they would look presentable on show day.  We maneuvered in a way that would reach every crevasse in order to cover up a summer's worth of dirt from the Anderson pin.  I'm sure my mom had a smile on her face as she saw bubbles, mud, smiles, and occasionally frustrated tears from the view of her camera lens.  She never hesitated to capture memories, or to serve us in our growing up.  Every show night, we would clean up and she would be the one in worn clothes.  My mother has never looked more beautiful than in that old cap, on her knees, with a scrub brush in hand, supporting us no matter how messy the job.  Through her example, service was modeled for me.

Show night was like Friday night on the football field in my home town.  The lights came on and country folks piled in.  Friends from school ventured from the carnival and made their way to the stands.  I could smell show products, turkey legs, and the end of summer as I did one final check on my hair and made sure my over-sized button down shirt was fully tucked into my high rise jeans.  Money and time invested, I walked with a big smile full of nerves and excitement into the show arena.  I remember looking back to see my dad, sweat on his forehead and a rag in hand, giving me a smile and a big thumbs up. 

No true mathematical formula would have chosen the Anderson kids to win.  When you take low budget animals and put them in a hand crafted pin with a owners who view them as pets, and put them up against experience, the odds are not in your favor.  Somehow, success made it our way more times than not.  Success meant selling the animals and making a profit.  "Cookies and Cream," "Bluebell," "Speckles," and the many other animals that came away with blue ribbons, would then get another night in the arena.  For the sale, these lucky animals (male or female) would be covered in glitter, bows, and be placed in a pin with a basket of goodies as we gave them to the man with the highest bid.  From this experience, I learned that hard work does pay off.  I learned to have gratitude toward those who supported us.  At a young age, I learned that saying good-bye is not always easy, and at an older age I learned that "going to another farm," usually meant going to a packer and bringing meat to someone's table.  I learned how to win, how to lose, and how to be good at both.  At the end of each year, we would hook up that empty white hunk of metal on wheels and haul her back home.

Three quarters of the year, that white hunk of mental on wheels sat in the pasture waiting for its time to shine once again.  As the rust accumulated after the few (very few) New Mexico rains, the trailer would need some TLC. My ears perked up as dad gave me the option of painting over some of the rust for a little cash.  As a now freshman in High School, this meant new Dr. Martens or Lucky Brand jean (fads that now seems silly), so I agreed without hesitation.  Oil-based paint found its way into my newly highlighted hair and on to my still lanky arms.  Hard work and patience were in the making.  Although I may have provided a shiny new coat, I know that under that paint withstood rust formed by many memories with that white hunk of metal on wheels.  After my graduation, my brother and sister continued to keep the hunk of metal alive.  Now that my brother is a senior, the white hunk of metal on wheels is sold, but the memories and learning experiences stay alive.

As I look forward to raising kids of my own, the reality is that they probably will not show animals.  In a suburban neighborhood north of Fort Worth, the resources are not exactly ideal. Our kids probably will not have friends that show animals.  High rise jeans and thick button down shirts will probably not be on their list of items to buy.  However, I pray that we have a white hunk of mental of our own.  I pray that we are able to provide our kids with memories that allow them to sweat, struggle, and enjoy "Quality Family Time."  Through sweat and struggle come values such as perseverance, patience, responsibility, and gratitude.  I learned to be proud of the moments with the white hunk of metal on wheels.  I learned never to judge the rust.  I learned that looks don't matter, and sometimes humility is more powerful than shine.  After all, the Savior of the world was born in a lowly manager to set a perfect example for all mankind.

As Scott Fitzgerald quotes, "The redeeming things are not happiness and pleasure, but the deeper satisfactions that come out of struggle."