My Daddy Was a Real Cowboy

By Ellen Carter

Fifteen-year-old Joey Burkett wonders if he will ever be successful at anything. He always thought he would grow up to be a rodeo performer as his father, a world champion cowboy, had been, but Daddy died in a rodeo accident. When he grew to six feet tall in the eighth grade, he thought he might be a basketball player, but that would mean college, and he is failing math. Joey hopes that whatever his future, his new peer tutor, Julie Hernandez, who he really admires, will be a part of it, and that Matthew Kane, the new man in his mother’s life, will not.

When Joey quarrels with Julie and becomes upset at his mother’s going out with Matt, he goes along with a friend to “borrow” an expensive sports car. In an attempt to see how fast it would go, they wreck the car. Joey thinks he is headed to Juvenile Detention, but Matt Kane comes up with a plan for Joey to work on his ranch and raise beef calves for the summer to earn money to pay for the damages..

Joey hates ranch work and considers running away to Colorado where Daddy’s old rodeo partner lives. Then, he learns that his mother had mortgaged their home, and he is determined to stick it out until the calves are sold. When the calves are stolen, Joey is devastated, but he pulls himself together, and his quick thinking saves the day. With Matt’s help, Joey gains the knowledge and confidence to work on his math skills and return to school.

My Daddy Was A Real Cowboy is set in modern day Western Oklahoma where cowboys still herd cattle on horseback, and rustlers still steal cattle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781663231840

Ellen Carter

Dr. Nelda Carter Lowrance is a retired middle-school math teacher who was born and raised on a cattle ranch in Western Oklahoma. She attended Oklahoma State University and Vanderbilt University. She enjoys playing tournament bridge, knitting, and watching college sports. She lives in Tullahoma, Tennessee with her Yorkie, Lucy.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Joey Burkett rushed down the hall of Arapaho County High, his cheeks and nose still stinging from the January cold. Students in heavy coats and woolen hats called to one another as they crowded around a row of lockers. Joey hung back for a moment until the space in front of his locker was empty. Then he threw open the door, stuffed his hat and coat inside, and resumed his frantic journey down a long corridor, his long legs chewing up the distance in record time.

He slowed down as he passed the principal’s office. The clock over the door showed two minutes until the eight o’clock bell. No need to rush. He didn’t want to get a detention slip for running in the hall. Last year, at the middle school, he hadn’t worried about detention, but this year, basketball practice was after school—the same time as detention hall.

Joey had been scrawny and clumsy in elementary school and never very good at sports. He was always the last chosen in a team game, but last year, his arms and legs seemed to extend and find rhythm and cooperation. He found that he could run down the floor and dribble a basketball at the same time. Then he developed a jump shot that arched gracefully into the bottom of the net and a baby hook that even the seniors found hard to block. He had made the high school team, one of only three freshmen. He couldn’t believe he’d finally done something right. If he missed basketball practice now because of a stupid detention slip, he would be off the team, and there would go his chance for next year—if there was a next year.

Joey turned the corner past a brightly colored bulletin board whose message read Get a New Start in the New Year. Yeah, sure. It would be nice if he could start over with math, but no such luck. He plopped into his seat in the back row of the math room just as the bell rang.

Great! You made it, his friend P. J. Martin said. Got your homework?

Some, he said with a shrug.

Students continued to mill around the room despite the final bell.

Hey, do you think it will snow? Karen Bowman asked.

I guarantee school will be dismissed tomorrow, P. J. said.

Oh, you, Karen said with a mock note of exasperation. Of course school will be dismissed tomorrow. It’s Saturday.

Joey listened to their pleasant chatter. He wished he could tease and joke with a girl, but he could never think of anything clever to say.

A short, stocky woman with a round, plain face marched briskly into the room. Any day now, Joey expected to see her wearing camouflage and army boots instead of her usual uniform of a black skirt and print blouse. Ten-hut, she called in a harsh voice. Everyone scampered to a seat. She peered over her dark rimmed glasses and scanned the room, then shook her head when she discovered three chairs still vacant. When will you clowns learn you can’t miss class and pass? She removed a pencil from the iron-gray bun at the back of her head and marked her attendance book.

Mrs. Collins, do we get grade reports today? someone in the front row asked.

First-semester reports will be ready on Monday, she said. "But I can tell you right now the news is not going to be good."

A teacher’s aide came in and gave some papers to Mrs. Collins.

How’ll you do? P. J. whispered.

I don’t know, Joey said. I may have failed math—and you?

P. J. gave a thumbs-up. Old P. J. never seemed to get too uptight about grades, but then, he always seemed to make a C without a lot of effort. Joey wished he could be as sure. One F and he could stay on the team if his other grades were high enough, but two Fs and he was gone.

Now let’s check our homework, Mrs. Collins said as the aide went out the door. Everyone, exchange papers.

Joey gave his paper to P. J. So far, his luck was holding. If she just didn’t take them up, he would be OK. Mrs. Collins read the answers. Joey glanced over at P. J. He had checked only two wrong. Good old P. J.

I am not taking up homework today, Mrs. Collins said. We’re having a quiz on Monday. I’ll know then if you’ve been doing your homework. Some of you think you’re still on Christmas vacation.

Joey’s heart sank. He still didn’t understand percentages. He never knew when to multiply or divide. He would really work on his math tonight—right after basketball practice.

I’ll work some problems from today’s homework. When we find the percentage of a number, we must first … Mrs. Collins turned her broad back to the class and began writing numbers on the chalkboard as she continued to talk. The big red, blue, and yellow flowers on the back of her blouse swayed from side to side as she worked until they were just patches of color. She turned back to the class. … and multiply by six. Any questions?

Joey wanted to ask a question, but he wasn’t sure what to ask. He tried to follow, but it was no use. He didn’t understand what she was doing. He sat up straight and stretched his neck, but he couldn’t see. Why didn’t she use an overhead projector so everyone could see? One of the girls had asked her once, but she’d said she had been teaching with a chalkboard for twenty-five years and saw no reason to change.

Then we add the decimal point between the three and the seven.

The room was warm. Joey stifled a yawn and shifted in his seat, but he still couldn’t see what Mrs. Collins was writing. She turned back to the chalkboard, talking as she wrote. Joey tried to listen, but all he heard was a muffled babble and the pecking of the chalk on the board. The knot of hair at the back of her head bounced up and down, and her fat hips moved in time with the beat, as if she were performing some weird ritualistic dance.

Then, before his eyes, Joey saw the patches of color on her blouse turn into the brightly colored shirts of rodeo riders. Music played in his head, the rousing march of a grand entry, and the riders wove around two beautiful girls mounted on golden palominos holding the United States’ flag and the flag of Oklahoma. The announcer said, And entering the arena is this year’s rookie of the year, Joe Burkett, from Harper City, Oklahoma.

And do you agree with that answer, Tiffany?

Joey came back to life and straightened up. She was calling on people in the back row. He had better pay attention.

Now let’s look at problem twenty. Fifty-seven is what percent of one twenty-five? Mrs. Collins turned her back and began writing on the board.

Once again, Joey tried to hear what Mrs. Collins was saying, but the sound of the roaring crowd in his head was too strong. Young Joe, the announcer said, is riding his daddy’s old roping horse, Midnight Prince. You all remember Big Joe Burkett. He was on his way to becoming the world-champion all-around cowboy when he was tragically killed. You’ll be seeing young Joe later on tonight in the calf-roping competition. Let’s hear it for Joe Burkett. Joey waved his white Stetson to the cheering crowd.

Then the crowd’s applause turned into a single screaming voice. Mrs. Collins was right in front of him. Her face was red, and she was shaking her finger at him. No wonder you’re failing math! she shouted. You never pay attention in class. A girl giggled. Joey’s cheeks burned. He ducked his head and scrunched down farther in his seat. The class was quiet. There was no doubt what his math grade would be when the reports came out on Monday.

Chapter 2

When Joey went to his locker after fourth period, he found a note taped to the door: Joey, I need to see you ASAP. I’ll be in my office from 12:15 to 1:00. Thanks, Coach Morris.

Save me a seat in the cafeteria, Joey said to P. J. I’ve got to go see the coach.

You think he knows about your math grade?

I don’t know. I guess, Joey said.

The door to the coach’s office was open, so Joey knocked on the doorframe.

Come in, a voice said.

Joey entered the office. Photographs of sports teams and bookcases filled with trophies lined the walls. Assorted athletic equipment lay on chairs and the floor. A large man with sandy hair and deep green eyes sat hunched over a desk. A bottle of water, a half-eaten sandwich, chips, and a granola bar were spread on a napkin over a pile of papers. An open sports journal lay beside the sandwich. The smell of salami and last year’s sweat socks filled the room.

Hi, Joey, Coach Morris said. Thanks for coming by. Have a seat. He indicated a chair. How’s your mom?

She’s OK.

Did you see your grandma over Christmas?

Naw, she still lives in Arizona.

Listen, Joey, Coach Morris said. I just got this from the guidance office. He held up a sheaf of computer printouts. It’s the first-semester grade list. You know Mrs. Davis, the guidance counselor, has to report the grades of all athletes to the state athletic association.

Joey squirmed in this seat. I—I guess it says I failed math, he said, twisting his hands nervously.

I’m afraid so, but that’s not the worst. You failed science too.

Science—no way! Joey said. Then he remembered Ds the first two grading periods and a 57 on the semester test. He had spent so much time on math he hadn’t had time to study anything else. He swallowed hard.

You know what that means, Coach Morris said. The athletic association calls it being academically ineligible. I have to dismiss you from the basketball team.

Oh man, Joey said, pounding his fist into his hand.

Not only that, but you can’t practice with the team or have any contact with the coaches until your grades are acceptable. I’m sorry, Joey.

Joey sat in stunned silence. His stomach felt as if he had just taken a charge from a two-hundred-pound power forward. He dropped his head into his hands.

Coach Morris came over to Joey and put his hand on his shoulder. I know it’s tough, he said, but I have no choice. Rules are rules.

Joey sagged back in the chair. He drew in his breath and then exhaled sharply. What was the use? Just when he thought he had a chance of being successful at something, it was snatched away by a lousy math grade. He saw a drizzly rain trickling down the office window, and his spirits sink as low as the old worn-out basketball beside his chair. He figured he ought to just quit school before things got any worse. Jud Higgins, Daddy’s old partner, had said he would give him a job when he grew up.

He heard Jud’s voice as if it were yesterday, speaking to him at Daddy’s funeral. Hang in there, little buddy, and when you get a little bigger, give me a call. I’ll teach you to be a calf roper or maybe even a bull rider. Do you want to be a cowboy like your daddy? Joey hadn’t known what to think at the time. He was only seven. All he’d known was Mama was crying and Daddy was never coming back.

Joey, Coach Morris said as he shuffled through his papers. You’ve got to work hard on your studies now so you can make the team next year. We’re really going to need you. Arapaho County has one of the smallest populations in the state. We don’t have many boys who are your height and have your ability. What are you now, six feet?

Yeah, I guess. I grew a lot last summer, Joey said, looking down at his long legs stretched in front of him. Every day, his shirtsleeves and pant legs seemed to get shorter.

Yes, said Coach Morris, and if you keep growing, you could be six-five or six-six by the time you get to be a senior. Now, we need to see what we can do about your grades so you can get back on the team.

Joey was doubtful. He would miss basketball if he quit school, but he would never graduate. He knew it. How could he come back next year and risk the humiliation of failing math again? He had already failed eighth-grade math in middle school. Now he was taking applied math. He couldn’t even take algebra, the regular ninth-grade class.

Can your mom help you with your homework?

Not much, Joey said. Her shift at Super Discount City is not over until 5:00 p.m., but sometimes she works till six or seven to make extra money. She’s usually too tired to help me when she gets home.

What about hiring a tutor or going to one of those learning centers?

Mama could never afford that. She doesn’t make much on her job, Joey said.

Yes, I see, Coach Morris said. I think I know what might help you. Mrs. Davis has started a peer-tutoring program.

What’s that?

Students your own age help other kids with their schoolwork.

Whatever, Joey said. I guess I don’t have much choice.

Let’s see now, said Coach Morris, opening a folder. I have a list of the students. He ran his finger down the page.

Joey sat quietly, shaking his head. Nothing could help him. He was such a loser.

Yes, I think Julie Herrera would be a good choice for you. Julie is very good in math.

Joey sat up suddenly. Julie Herrera? No way.

Do you know Julie? And why not? Julie is a nice person and a darn good student.

That was the problem. Joey knew exactly what kind of a person Julie