The New Kids on the Block: Horse-Mad Girl

When I was ten years old, my family moved, and suddenly my brother, my sister and I were the new kids on the block. There were numerous children in the neighborhood, but they had grown up together until they had congealed in to one solid mass of impenetrable friendship, and none of them would play with us. My brother was just a baby, so he could care less. My sister greeted puberty by entering her small, dark bedroom as if it were a chrysalis; we rarely saw her, until one day she emerged, a social butterfly. I had my books to read, stories to write, trees to climb and even a small lake to swim in - in short, too much to do to worry about whether anyone would do it with me, to worry about being new and unpopular. Except for the horses.

Like most young girls, I was horse-mad. I'd even called the Humane Society to beg for a job so I could buy a horse, only to be politely but firmly informed that they did not hire ten year olds. I rode my uncle's horse, Lucky, a large, thoroughbred Tennessee Walker, once a year when we visited Vevay, Indiana. I dreamed endlessly of horses and yearned for one of my own. And then one day, horses appeared in my own little Florida neighborhood and all of the kids were riding them except me.

The horses belonged to the one upper middle class girl amongst all of us solid middle to lower middle class kids. She wasn't popular either, but her mother could afford to fix that. So the girl got not one, but two horses. One for her, one to share. The neighborhood kids either took turns riding the spare horse or just all piled on at once. That was the way I first saw the horse, loaded down with too many kids, while the girl rode the other one with her new "friends." I hid behind the curtains in my bedroom, gazing longingly out at the fun, and determining right then and there that I was going to ride that horse. By myself, thank you. I wasn't thinking of the girl, either. Just the horse. I wasn't sure how I would attain enough status to ride the horse, but I'd been taught that where there's a will, there's a way, and I rarely possessed more will than when there was a horse involved.

Another thing the more affluent girl's mother did for her daughter's happiness was throw elaborate birthday parties. Most of us had a cake with candles, some ice cream and perhaps a game or two for our parties. But this girl was thrown a party that involved a cookout, a free coke machine, and - yep! - horse back riding. The horses were both in the girl's fenced back yard, and they were the stars of the birthday party - not the girl. I, of course, wasn't invited.

So I invited myself. I knew this was my one opportunity, because the girl's mother was known to be a softhearted sort who was always treating the children of the neighborhood in one way or another. It was time to let her know I was now a child of the neighborhood myself. So I went down to the party.

Everyone was in the back yard, and I found a convenient knothole in the wooden gate to peer through. I watched the fun while I thought out my strategy. It didn't take long to realize that the horse who was usually loaded with children had gotten fed up and cranky. While the other horse politely gave little rides around the back yard, the cranky one had begun to buck. He would jump forward three times with his back legs kicking. Then he'd rear straight up, and if that didn't work to unseat the pesky, now frightened child on his back, he'd begin bucking wildly front and back, and that would do the trick. So I watched for a while, and then I opened the gate and went in. Luckily the girl's mother was standing right beside it. Instantly she greeted me, with "Hello, what's your name?"

"Tracie. Can I ride your horse?" I said, getting right to the point . She instantly said that I could and the neighborhood children, realizing I'd done an end-run around them, decided to have some fun with me. Several kids, as if they'd rehearsed it, materialized, and became kindness itself, urging me to be sure to ride THIS horse especially, as they indicated the cranky, bucking thing, who at the moment was standing docilely, but with fire in his eye. I kept my face blank, but inside I was smiling as I hopped up on Mr. Bucky.

Instantly he went in to his tried and true routine, three, kicking jumps forward- and I held my seat. Straight up he reared, as I leaned in to it and tightened my knees, enjoying every minute. Wild bucking ensued, and I could no longer keep the grin off my face. Then, graciously submitting, the horse quietly gave me a trot around the back yard at my request. As I neared the kindly Mom, I slid off with great dignity and thanked her for the ride. Then I left the party. But not before I saw the respect in the eyes of the other children for the new kid on the block - and soon they were my friends.