I’m sitting here, miles away from Live Oak, Florida, glued to my phone as Jason Ladd, a U.S. Army combat veteran from Okeechobee, sends me up-to-the-minute texts and pics of his 15-year-old son, Gunner Ladd, a 10th grader at Okeechobee High School, climbing into the chute at a Florida High School Rodeo Association event. Gunner’s in his rookie year, unranked but fearless, also competing in the Florida Little Britches Rodeo Association and the Southwest Florida Little Britches Association. I grew up on a cattle farm, tangling with 1,500-pound bulls that could turn a good day into a hospital visit faster than you can say “stampede,” so I’m flat-out amazed Jason’s letting his kid do this. Bull riding? That’s not just dangerous—it’s a heart attack in eight seconds flat, way more intense than 60 minutes of football ever could be.
My phone buzzes with a pic: Gunner’s in the chute, Jason’s steadying the rope around a beast named Purple Rain. I can’t get over it—a combat vet from Okeechobee willingly helping his teenage son strap into this snorting, bucking chaos machine up in Live Oak. What’s going through Jason’s head? I’m trying to crawl inside that veteran brain of his. As he’s texting me, “Rope’s set, he’s ready,” he’s probably thinking, “Keep your grip, kid. Focus. I’ve seen worse than this bull—way worse—but damn, don’t let go.” Another text pings in: “Gate’s about to open.” I bet his mind’s racing: “Eight seconds. Just eight seconds. Stay on, stay safe, don’t get stomped.” Then, a blurry action shot lands in my inbox—Gunner’s airborne, getting whipped around like a ragdoll. Jason’s likely holding his breath, counting down, “Five… four… three… get off clean, son, please don’t eat dirt.” Finally, a text: “He’s off—safe!” with a pic of Gunner dusting off his hat. Jason’s exhaling, thinking, “He’s back. He’s good. That’s my boy.”
Meanwhile, Gunner? That kid’s got one thought as Purple Rain explodes out of the gate: “Hell yeah!” No fear, no hesitation—just pure, teenage adrenaline junkie vibes. I can feel the contrast through my screen. Dad’s a bundle of tactical nerves, and Gunner’s living for the rush.
Jason’s next text mentions the Live Oak crowd, and I can just imagine a gaggle of teenage girls in the stands, watching Gunner with starry eyes, thinking, “Whoa, that guy’s fearless—and kinda cute.” Me, staring at these pics? I’m thinking, “Ladies, you have no idea what it takes to climb on that bull. This ain’t no TikTok dance.” But I get it—Gunner’s got that cowboy cool factor, and they’re eating it up.
Jason’s got to be proud, though. He’s texting me about his 15-year-old son from Okeechobee, not just riding bulls in Live Oak but bass fishing and hunting too—real alpha male stuff. Those genes must run deep, like they were forged in a combat zone and handed down with a side of grit. I mean, come on—an Army vet dad raising a bull-riding, rod-casting, deer-stalking kid? That’s some next-level DNA flexing. I’m half-expecting Jason to send me a pic of himself wrestling bears just to prove the point.
As my phone lights up with a final shot of Purple Rain settling down and Gunner standing tall in Live Oak, I’m still shaking my head. I’ve tangled with bulls enough to know this sport’s no joke, and yet here’s Jason, cool as can be, texting me his son’s wild ride from up north. It’s insane, it’s inspiring, and it’s one hell of a father-son story unfolding through my inbox from Okeechobee to Live Oak.
