So this city girl … she wants to be a jockey.
Everywhere we go, every sidewalk we encounter, it’s a race.
Seabiscuit vs. Secretariat. Man O’ War vs. Zenyatta. Pegasus vs. Crystal Warrior. I watch her gallop down the block by herself, listening to her call invisible races to the wind.
“Zenyatta … Zenyatta … Zenyatta at the wire!”
These fleeting glimpses of the world within … they’re spell-binding.
Every weekend for the past year, she has been taking riding lessons with her mother. Not jockey lessons, sadly. But horsey horse lessons, or whatever they’re called. A few weeks ago, the trainers thought she was ready and asked if she wanted to be in her first show, and what else was she going to say? She was ecstatic.
She got to put on some fancy fancy riding garb and wouldn’t take off the jacket while she waited, despite the rolling waves of heat.
“I want to be ready,” she said.
I always marvel at her on a horse. It’s a selfish, self-centered thought. For six years, most of the things she has done in life, she has done with me, whether it’s sports or crafts or simply frolicking on the playground. I know her abilities and limits in all areas. Except horses. I’m scared to death of the beasts, and riding is something she does with her mother — it’s their thing. So every time I see her ride, I marvel at the control she has, the strength and the pride in her efforts. She’s fallen off, she’s had her foot stepped on a couple times, she had her hand stepped on once and required a cast for a week. And yet … she gets back on. This is more than proverbial. I would have called it a day, and she simply saddles up again. Before she left for the hospital, she demanded to go see the pony that stepped on her hand, just to tell her there were no hard feelings.
So this was an official horse show, complete with ribbons and prizes and, seriously, gift bags filled with the names of Realtors and samples of wrinkle remover. When I do events, the gift bags are filled with power gels and water bottles. She had those, too, except hers advertised accountants and car dealers. What have we gotten ourselves into?
But I digress.
She rode like a champ and managed to grab third place, just ahead of one other girl. She was beyond words. (Click on this picture to see.)
It was a thrill to see all her hard work in action, following the judge’s commands — posting, two point, jumping position — and I couldn’t help but imagine that this is what it’s going to be like from now on, just sitting there on the sidelines, catching glimpses of the constellations coming to light within.
She looks gigantically tall in that first photo.
Goodness me, Adamick. I love your writing — and all the sweet stories you tell the world about your lucky-duck daughter. Seriously! You are one kick-ass dad.
Seriously, I don’t know what happened with that first photo. I think it may have grown somehow, but the buildings looked proportioned. Weird. Yes, the kid is growing like a weed, but this is insane.
Thanks, Liz. Next time I’ll write about making her clean up all the dog poop. Not so kick ass then …
My kids aren’t old enough to have these kinds of interests of their own but I imagine it is surreal to watch them go off and explore things that don’t involve you after so many years of being with them all the time. Great photos too!
Exactly. It’s probably what it’s going to be like when she comes home from her first college break reciting that Milton epic I never read or trying to tell me all about organic chemistry. Who ARE you?
And thanks!
Congratulations to Emme! This is a rite of passage for LUCKY girls who have parents who understand the magic of horses. I should warn you that a colleague of my husband’s had two girls who started out like this. He wound up buying a farm big enough for a stable with 4 horses (they both needed a spare). Then they went off to college to be on the college equestrian team (more horses). They (as adults with kids of their own) are still active in the horse scene as are their kids (and of necessity, grandpa)…
Oh man, it would be amazing to buy a farm. I could dig that. What lucky kids.
Very cool man…good for you to help make your daughter’s dreams come true. I’m 6′ 2″, so would make a terrible jockey.
wow…my heart is bursting with pride….my heart is breaking as the time flies…and all for a little girl i only know from this screen. odd world we live in.
so grown-up and yet in the last pictures…there is still that innocent little, little girl.
you should be so proud…i know you are…i am so proud…i’ve never “known” anyone that from so early knew where their passion lies.
i think she knows.
Great site.Thanks for posting.