I think I was pre-school age; but I started a little late and the memories are so vivid I had to be old enough to remember and young enough I hadn't learned not to cry... My father enjoyed taking me to pal along in his work days. I would run back to the truck for a wrench, that I could rarely find in the rat's nest of metal he called a toolbox that I got quite strong carrying back to him. He introduced me to clients who I clowned for; scrambling up the magnolias to get a bird's eye view of the world; something I've never been willing to give up...
I think I could take you to the spot on Barron road next to the old saw mill that dad brought his pine logs to- the owner cut a board for himself, and then one for dad. Father had stacks of wood drying for a garage he never built. His men dug a foundation; when the rain filled it my little sister and I would pull ourselves along in the trenches pretending to be alligators. My older brother Tim, before he left for college, used some lumber to build a rough tree house thirty feet up in the back post oak. I spent most of my time there with my sister and our abundant imaginations. It is all under Interstate 49 now.
The pony in the pasture next to the sawmill was for sale. She was a brown Shetland with a black tail named Seven-up. I can still feel the warmth of her snort as I touched her tender muzzle; nibbling lips taking in my fingers.
"She can bite off a finger, son; be careful!"
But I knew we were soul mates; she would never bite me...
She reached her head out and pulled me against her shoulder, scratching her cheek on the stubble of my butch crew cut.
"That pony likes your boy, Mr. Moon! I've never seen her do that with anyone before!"
"How much do you want for her?"
"$75 dollars, and I'll throw in a good used saddle, too."
Dad's eyes narrowed and twinkled; he sucked air through his teeth; barely nodding...
He wanted that pony.
"I have to see what my wife thinks. Do you have anyone else trying to get her?"
"The man down the street wants her. But I want seven-up to be happy, and a horse needs a boy for that!"
All the way home, Dad told me stories of Champ, the companion of his youth.
"Champ got in the cellar once, when I forgot to latch the door. He ate a fourth of a barrel of apples we wrapped in newspaper to keep for eating over the winter. I couldn't sit down on my busted butt for two days! When the horses raced in Mountain Lake Park, Champ and I would run beside them out side the track, and he kept right up with them..."
I believed all the signs were pointing to a wonderful friendship with a horse like my father treasured so deeply. But Mom pointed out we had no place to keep her; and it was illegal to keep horses in our neighborhood. Are we going to rent a pasture, too? I watched the bubble burst on my father's face; and the pragmatism swallowed up all hope. I was devastated. I was so sure... He wanted it for me so bad... And I began to cry. To wail. I ran into his bedroom and squeezed between the two single beds some married couples actually slept in in the 1960's and buried my face in the mattress, sobbing "I want my pony! I want my pony!"
It didn't help to cry, but when he entered the room and told me he would tan my hide if I didn't quit crying, I was grateful he didn't count the random sniffs that racked me, as I swabbed my cheeks with my sleeve. I wonder how many years Moon men have told their boys their hides would be tanned in an effort to make them into men.
I am still jealous of the man who got my pony.
A contest entry
- Show me you by Sabre Felcat.
1310 points, ended November 14, 2009, 18 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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So precious
Do you want that I should get you a pony? Bob wants a pony too! -
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Ahhhm skeeert of ponies nayaw. Mite fall offen one 'n aye done bayounce loik aye euyustoo...
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Beautifully written, with the touch of sadness that often comes in childhood memories; the kindest thought here is that your father actually wanted you to have the pony, but it wasn't possible... how hard it must be, sometimes, to grow up to be a man, like your father wants you to be... thank you for sharing this.
Lita
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Enjoyable read ...
I will start by saying that in the first paragraph I wondered why you were climbing the magnolia tree but fetching tools from the truck for your Dad's profession. Perhaps you did that inbetween but at first it seemed like you did it for a purpose. Ah, sweet as a magnolia blossum! I practiced on Banyan trees and our fort was 30 ft up a long-leaf pine with acres of saw palmettoes and views of the bay. When you have two older brothers, if you couldn't do it then you couldn't come along. I so enjoyed your story as it reminded me of my childhood and a good story will do that, won't it? As for the pony ... sad!
j
y
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My daddy taught me his craft; the care of trees. It is all I have ever done. I had two older brothers, too. One, Tim, the oldest and I were friends. Things were strained between the middle bro and I . Where do you live, with banyans?
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I truly enjoyed this! It is beautifully written, poignant childhood story. Sometimes there are "little" wounds like this that never quite heal. I was forced to give up my dog as a child. Perhaps that is why I am so obsessed with them now.
OK. So now that you are a man, tell me just how tanned is that hide of yours?
(Forgive me.)
Camille
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Give up your Dog?
I think every child should have at least one pet. We have had dogs, cats, goats, ferrets, squirrels, everything but snakes and spiders. There I draw the line. -
Hmmmm?
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awwww..... so sad! but i guess thats how life must be. this is a different way of telling of one's self, writting of a memory instead of a general overview. nicely done.
thanks for entering and goodluck in the contest
~Sabre Felcat -
Superb telling of the long-held memory,
boy learning what it takes to be man.
Perfect closing---that you srill hold the wish--
and still cary the envy for the man down the street
who was able to buy the pony!
Your remembered details are great, the dialogue
brightening the story line!!!
M-C
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Oh moon.. where is the gold for this? my first horse was a tw of course he was solid black and I was so young I named him well... Black boy grin.. how he could run . I wish you could have had that but I am jealous of your mother and father so we shall just be jealous. this is beautiful.
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I pneaux yeaux wood lite my story...
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