“Jackasses bray and thoroughbreds run,” Bill
Bogle.
A little family history
My great grandfather Hal Bogle had tuberculosis and left
Tennessee for a drier New Mexico and started farming, ranching and raising
thoroughbreds. My grandfather Bill Bogle had polio, but that did not hinder his
vision. He was an extremely smart man, and continued growing the family business by turning
it into three separate ranches and one
large farming operation. Bogle Limited was
selected as the 1999-2000 American Quarter Horse Association Best Remuda recipient. We have the crash site of the UFO on our ranch, bat caves and we use
to have a farm house where 15 POW’s of WWII stayed, but we blew it up this spring. We are pyromaniacs at heart. We manage our business on horseback,
and my family and I are extremely hard workers; I credit that to my
grandfather and grandmother.
My father and mother have continued the
entrepreneur spirit by establishing a forage harvesting business, B&B Choppers, with my cousin
Martin Bogle. My aunt is a well-known successful
lawyer, my mother is a successful Mary Kay Director, my other aunt is an extremely smart writer, and my uncles are horse
whisperers. My cousins, sister and I have continued to carry on the Bogle name in other
career fields. We are head strong and extremely driven people.
Junior High
In junior high you would think I had an identity crisis rapping Ying Yang twins, wearing bandannas, long shorts and J’s, and having every Selena song on my mp3 so my friends would think I was cool. After school, I would go to piano lessons, listen to 90s country, put on my boots and hoe weeds in our pecan orchards. I had a close group of friends going in to high school, but all that changed, especially when I got good at sports. I wasn’t moved up for high school basketball, because my mother knew how badly the high school girls bullied me, so she told the coach no, but I begged to run varsity track.
That is when it started - varsity track. I got questions like this, did your daddy talk to the coach? I got threats if I beat girls in sprints at practice, so I would wait until the meets to beat them. I would run to the locker room to change before the upperclassmen got there. No one else from my eighth grade class moved up to varsity track, so I was all alone. It got really bad when I beat out a junior for her spot on the 4X100 meter relay and qualified for State. And the questions continued, how much did your daddy pay the coach? Don’t act all innocent, we know you’re just a rich bitch. I became more quiet and a recluse, because I was scared.
Gotta
love high school.
I went to Dexter High School, a public high
school in the Pecos Valley. According to my peers, people who had “last names” were supposed to go to private schools. Needless to say, I stuck out
like a sore thumb, but not because of what I wore, my hair or my friends, but
because I was a Bogle. I wore sweat pants almost every single day to school, my
hair was always in a ponytail, and my gym bag was my purse. I did not want to
bring more attention to myself, but also because I like to dress that way anyway. I think I'm down-to-earth.
High school had already started with the
pretense that this blonde hair, blue eyed, jock is a “rich bitch,” and none of
them even knew me or wanted to get to know me. It didn’t help that I was boy crazy. I
am not going to deny that fact. I also had a new crisis – body image. I have
always been muscular and curvy and that is different for a white girl, I guess. So,
when three-a-days (yes three-a-days) started for high school volleyball, I
pushed myself so hard to look what everyone thought I should look like – skinny
and tall. I went from a size six to a size zero-two in three months. One of my
teachers ask me if I had a problem, it was that bad. Sadly, that did not help
the bullying or quiet the comments. The better I got, the worse it
was. The girls would hit me in the head with volleyballs during hitting drills
when I wasn’t looking and my coach would laugh. And then immediately after practice ask
me to ask my family to sponsor the entire team with free gameday shirts and the upcoming fundraiser.
Thankfully, the guys in my class had my back. I have always been the jock that hangs with the football guys, most of my friends today are men. We had tough days, but without their help it would have been much more difficult. Even though I tried to be a recluse, my friends from the First Presbyterian Church Youth Group always helped especially when I didn't realize how alone I felt and how much I needed them. I'll never forget going to build a house with them in San Leon, and in turn building great friendships, and giving my testimony in front of my peers.
It was basketball season. I was a power forward,
so when my coach put me up against the senior girls for post drills I started shaking and became extremely nervous. I
can’t explain to you how many bruises I had on my sides and ribs from jabs
after the drill or elbows to the ribs when the ball was already dead. Sports
are competitive and if anyone understands that it’s me, but there is a huge
difference between playing aggressive and straight up trying to injure your competition,
when it is your TEAMMATE. The locker room threats continued. What was worse is
my junior high friends hated me for being moved up and my varsity team didn’t
like me, because I was competition. I did not instigate it, instead I stopped going to
lunch, because the girls would call me names like “rich bitch, slut, whore,
ugly, etc.” while I was in the lunch line. So, I would go shoot
free-throws at lunch, I would not eat lunch the entire basketball season. This continued until my junior year.
My father likes to sit behind the bench during
basketball games, and my point guard wouldn’t pass me the ball during our district game. She never
passed me the ball. The 14 points I averaged a game were from rebound put
backs. “I was a rich bitch who complained to her daddy, so I don’t deserve the
ball,” that was why according to her. My father started screaming to the
point guard to pass me the ball, along with other parents. So after the game my coach said, “You can tell your father to shut the f**** up. And I don’t give
a shit if he is a Bogle,” in front of all my teammates. We had lost the game by
20 points. My father yelling did not loose us the game, but this did not help
my case.
Track was better, because I had established myself by qualifying as an eighth grader. I would stay after practice
and run 400s to continue to get stronger, and also so I wouldn’t be in the locker room with
the other girls. Another reason I would stay after practice was because my parents were
going through a hellacious divorce, and home was not home. Surprisingly, the
“rich Dexter family” did not have everything perfectly put together with the
money my parents were raking in. I guess that determines happiness to people.
If you have heard the song Castle Walls that is exactly how it was. While the
upperclassmen continued to bully me for being a Bogle and good at sports, I was
begging to trade them places.
You know how you typically go through initiation
once maybe twice as a freshman….yeah I went through it every year. It didn’t
stop until junior year, when I flipped a fellow teammate upside down during
volleyball practice. I was sick of it, and I snapped. (True story, many can attest to this.) That was the last comment she
made to me. The rich bitch comments stopped, at least from my teammates. It took physically sticking up for myself and blacking out to get my teammates to back off.
Lastly, I know we shouldn’t hold grudges for trivial things, however, after playing three sports for four full years in high
school, you were suppose to be a go-to nomination for the Greatest Demon
Award. Your name is put on a plaque in the gym, which would hopefully hang by my record holding 4X100 time already in the gym. I was the only senior to accomplish
this, and they gave the award to a cheerleader for the first time ever that
year. When I asked why, “Well, you’re a Bogle.” No, I am not kidding, an adult literally said that to my face.
When I look back at high school, I don’t
understand why I was bullied into not eating, being quiet, scared,
and then hosting pool parties and bringing Mary Kay makeup to my
teammates, and fronting the money to sponsor events and shirts for our team? I was tall,
ripped, but I was bullied into being so quiet I rarely stood up for myself. Now, I'm very head strong and out spoken, probably due to my experience in high school. I don’t understand why I was ashamed of
playing piano competitively, dancing, being an honors student, being a cowgirl, or what my family had.
It was disrespectful for me to feel that way, after what my family has
accomplished. I didn’t realize how great it is to be proud of myself, and to not be someone I wasn't. All the corny things we are told
by our parents, but don't understand until we walk the walk.
When I came to Texas Tech, I did not know who I
was, and had no clue what I wanted to be. Then a guy told me I was beautiful, which I had not heard in a long time, and a friend said be proud of where you come from and have confidence. Slowly my confidence grew, sadly it took help. I received several prominent scholarships, both nationally and internationally. I landed an
internship without the employer knowing my family, and recently a man came up to me
and said I had no idea what your family did, and your history is so cool. Every now and then I find myself not talking about it much, because I don’t
want to brag and I don’t want people to think I'm a selfish brat. You hear about people coming
from nothing and their success stories. It is not any different. Money has been
a problem not a blessing for my family. I went through my parents divorce, an unhealthy relationship, intense bullying, and now I am doing every thing I wished
to accomplish. I did that on my own two feet, but because I come from a wealthy
family it doesn’t mean much to people.
Back home people still ask me what I had to do
to get a job at Ramar Communications. They ask what phone call my father made.
When people find out I own a house, they ask me if my daddy foots the bill.
People I use to work with would say, “why should you get a raise, when you
drive the truck you do. You don’t need help.” No, I am not exaggerating. Grown
people carried on the “rich bitch” tradition. “You must have been babied or
something to expect anything, you're weak.” “Why are applying for scholarships when your
family can pay for your college?” I have heard everything imaginable.
It is sad that people judge you for what you have
and don’t have. This is not a sob story, but sometimes it is good to bring
light to these situations, particularly bullying. It is also very therapeutic to write about. And instead of me worrying about what you might think of me after
this blog post, I am writing it anyway. I am sure the usual words come to mind, "poor pitiful Lauren Bogle, she was bullied and called names, but look what she
has - TV jobs, a house, money, like seriously cry me a river.” I don't care what you think of me. What's worst is bullying seems to follow me in this industry, because I am a woman, but I am not going to dive into that. I am not asking for sympathy by any means, I don't need it nor do I want it. I can always be better, and try harder. I am definitely the first person to reevaluate myself, and I'm always trying to better myself.
The message we
read from success stories is so true – adversity made me stronger. When I go
to sleep at night, and know that I pay for my house, my truck, my livelihood
with my salary and not my families help - that makes me proud. People in Lubbock recognize my name as the sporty, football obsessed reporter, not a farmer/rancher's daughter. I can’t prove to
people how hard of a worker I am, how strong my faith is, how good of a
person I am, because at the end of the day people will think what they want to
think.
No one can understand my story, until you walk a mile in my shoes. I will never fully be able to understand the story of a basketball player from the Bronx, I can't even imagine. We all have our own story to tell, and
we shouldn’t be so quick to judge. And just like my grandfather would say, “Jackasses bray and thoroughbreds run."
I have had a new dishwasher in my
garage for two months....
I love California and I need the West Coast back in my life, the East Coast gives me panic attacks. 
Here is the risk: start
Bogle’s - Wine Bar
