By PETER WYLDE
When I was a kid, I used to canter down my driveway, pretending I was holding reins, and jumped the cracks in the pavement.
I pretty much did the same strides each time, but if I was in a hurry, I could leave a stride out on all the lines which was kind of fun. This was usually the case going to my stable—a small two car garage converted into a two stall horse barn with aisle and tack room.
It was down the long driveway from my childhood home, so there were plenty of cracks to jump. And, I was almost always in a hurry to get to the stable.
On the way back to the house, which usually meant time for homework, I could train my horse to be polite in the bridle by adding a stride or two, working on collection.
This imaginary riding was something I did simply by nature, just out of my complete desire to be riding all the time.
Unfortunately, I learned pretty quickly that I should probably only do this when I was alone—or at least out of sight of most people. This meant never at school, not in public, and definitely not in front of my father or at any family gatherings. My father even told me not to do it.
It was the first time in my life that people, mostly male, mocked or teased me for what I was doing, and in essence, for who I was.
I was a very good athlete as a kid. I was the fastest in my class, and a first string soccer and hockey player. And when I was doing sports, I was pretty cool.
At least, I felt pretty cool. But my desire to ride, both a real or imaginary horse, was something that people, again mostly males, seemed to have a hard time with. For them, it definitely wasn’t cool.
Fortunately, my drive to ride outweighed any feelings of shame that were inflicted upon me. I was the happiest when I was riding. It just felt good.
When I was 13, I began training with Fran and Joe Dotoli.
Although Fran was the main coach at their Young Entry Stables, my parents really wanted me to train with a man. Joe, at the time, was still teaching high school in Boston, but he was able to teach me once a week on Thursday afternoons and on the weekends at shows. Their stable was a 20 minute hack through the woods from my house, so I could ride my pony to my lesson on Thursdays after school and still make it back before dark.
Working with Joe gave me confidence. He brought me back to the basics and taught me to believe in myself. The pony I had was young—a 5 year old we had bought from Jeri and Tracy Freels. He was very talented, but green, and I was a little bit lost with him. Joe made things simple and encouraged me to ride correctly.
In a very short time, everything came together. Joe gave me strength. He gave me courage. And most importantly, he taught me to believe in myself. Of all the males in my life, Joe allowed me to be the person I wanted to be. To be the boy that I was. Not something I was supposed to be. He never judged me for anything I did, and he never made me feel shame— and that was empowering.
The training and confidence that Joe gave me set me on a trajectory to achieve a lot with horses—a lot. I was very successful during my junior career with Joe and Fran by my side, guiding me and allowing me. And although later as an adult and professional I trained with some of the most important trainers in the world, as a mentor, Joe and his words never left me.
To this day, I am eternally grateful to Joe Dotoli, for teaching me little adages like, “A good carpenter never blames his tools!”
But I am most grateful to Joe for giving me the strength and confidence to be myself, to be the boy, young man, and eventually, the person that I wanted to be.
Joe allowed and encouraged me to flourish, and as a result, I was able to achieve great things.
