My Dream Job: Becoming a Jockey

My dream to become a jockey began when I was 6. My grandfather loved to play the ponies and always took me along. We would wake up early in the morning in the dark and get ready. I remember I always wore a Santa Anita ball cap my grandpa gave me. As I dressed, he would fill his thermos with hot coffee, grab his race program and off to the races we went.

As we turned into the parking lot, my heart would jump in my throat at the excitement that I was about to encounter. I remember jumping out of my grandfather's beat up monstrosity of a truck, facing the entrance to the racetrack, and reading the words "Santa Anita Park". I would then close my eyes, and take in the sounds and smells around me.

My grandfather would take my hand and lead me through the front entrance and around back to the stables where grandpa would stop and talk to different stable hands and such, maybe even some trainers. I was never sure. I was too busy looking at the majestic animals all around me. There's something about watching a horse being brushed and treated as if he were a king. These animals were so beautiful. Sometimes I was allowed to feed the horses an apple or carrot. My grandfather would go to each horse and explain to me what he thought about each one and his theories if they were winners or not.

After we made our rounds at the stables, we would make our way up to the rail on the track and if there was ever a memory that was considered one of my favorites it would be this one. There is nothing as beautiful as watching a horse workout on the track in the early morning fog. Darkness encompasses you, the cold air burns your nose with every breath, and you feel the dew upon your face. Watching the animals become one with their jockeys impressed me greatly at such a young age. I often wondered who really was in charge, the jockey or the horse.

As the sun came up and the fog lifted, the track would prepare for the day's races. Jockeys would come out to the stables and check on their mounts. We would head to cafeteria for a bite to eat and my grandfather would discuss betting options with other pony lovers. I use to sit quietly and listen or I would wander around the track just waiting to catch a glimpse of a famous jockey. Shoemaker was my idol.

I would get a knot in my stomach at the first sighting of a jockey walking around in silks. Their silks were so beautiful with their bright colors and geometric patterns. Oh, how I dreamed that one day I could be wearing those colorful uniforms. Sometimes they would even wave to me and that really made my day. I considered it a lucky day. I told my grandfather that I wanted to be a jockey and he would smile and say, "Okay, mija, you can be anything you want." He would also tell me that as I got older he would be happy to help me find someone to teach me how to become a jockey.

We went to Santa Anita just about every race day. My dreams of being a jockey were always there. Feeling the power of a horse under me, the wind and the mudslinging onto my face, the slap of a whip, and the closeness of the other horses and jockeys, all vying for one thing, a first place finish. A racehorse has a strength unlike no other creature. He has a competitiveness and stubbornness that marks the greatness of a true world champion. I had a very deep respect for the racehorses which I was privileged enough to meet.

Sadly, my wonderful grandfather passed away a month before I turned ten. Needless to say, I was devastated. He was the most caring, strongest, marvelous, and passionate man I knew. I knew he was sick and we had stopped going to the track but, I had always believed he would get better. He had to get better, he was supposed to be my coach and see me become the first female jockey. I was supposed to make him proud by racing at Santa Anita.

Unfortunately, I never got to race at Santa Anita nor I never ever even became a jockey. I went back to the track a couple of times but, it was never the same. It's been twenty years since I stepped foot on the pavement that gave me my first big real dream. But Santa Anita did give me some of my fondest memories and it was a very special place for a little girl and her grandpa. Never quit dreaming because who knows maybe one day they will come true. And if your dreams don't come true, treasure the memories that were created along the way.