BY HILLARY MORROW
It was always my dream to have a child to share my passion with, but having two boys made me unsure it would happen. When Sean started riding, I was over the moon. Most of the time, I still am.
But there are days when I wonder if perhaps tennis would be a better choice simply because I don’t know very much about it. My younger son is a gymnast, and while I love to watch his practices and competitions, it’s very easy to just clap and be proud.
Last summer, Sean expressed that he’d rather I be just mom at the horse shows, unless it was a lead or diagonal. He reminded me, politely, that we have wonderful professionals in his life that we trust for a reason. So, I bit my tongue and watched as he executed the instructions he was given.
At the end of one round, he skipped a courtesy circle after a lovely trip with an unexpected flying change from his pony, and I was sure he had just blown the class. I asked what he had forgotten, and he looked at me blankly, so I reminded him. And, I swear, just to make me look stupid, he won the darn class. He thought the whole thing was hysterical; I had to apologize to my ten-year-old. Not my favorite horse show memory.
We are about three weeks into our half lease of Bee. She’s the sweetest and quietest girl in the world, and I think I’m becoming a mare person at the ripe age of fifty, having only ever owned geldings. Sean is working on his independence in the barn, but he can’t reach her butt without a stool, and he needs help making sure the saddle and pads are off her withers enough. I’m working on letting him make mistakes both in the barn and in the ring, as long as they are little things like trotting on the wrong diagonal, leaving on a light in the tack room, or forgetting to dry her front legs. It’s hard, as I’m a perfectionist.
Yesterday, we had a moment… and not a good one. It was the first time Sean was openly disrespectful with his words towards me while riding. He was not paying attention as we rode together in the outdoor ring, and he made a sharp turn at the canter that could have been dangerous for all four of us. I pulled up and tried to move out of the way. As he pulled Bee to a gentle stop, he yelled at me, using some choice words, including the one that starts with “F”.
I told him to get off. I asked him politely to get off, run up his stirrups, and put his mare away. I reminded him that speaking to me that way was 100% unacceptable. And then I continued my ride.
It took everything in my power not to get off and make sure he did what he needed to do. It took everything in my power to ignore him until he apologized for his tantrum. But I did. I wanted him to sit in the uncomfortable silence of knowing he was wrong.
I’ll give Sean credit: he forgot nothing yesterday as he put his mare away. Her fly boots and cribbing strap were on, his tack was neatly put away. When I checked for sweatmarks, there were none. I’m proud of him for not taking his frustration out on Bee.
This sport is expensive; that’s nothing new. I could make the situation yesterday about money, tell Sean that the lease is too expensive for him to not pay attention when he’s riding. But he’s 11, and sometimes he doesn’t steer. Sometimes, if I’m in the zone on Patch, I lose track of my place in the ring, too. I don’t want to make what happened about money. I want it to be about respect.
I need Sean to respect me, his trainers, his horse, and those around us at the barn. Thankfully, we were alone when he had his outburst yesterday. I was proud of how I handled things. I simply told him he could not ride and speak to me that way.
Many years ago, my trainer growing up did not like the way I responded to my mother’s offer of a drink as I exited the ring on my pony after a particularly disappointing round. I was sitting on my pony, dangling my feet and pouting, and then I wasn’t: my trainer lifted me by my belt loops and gently plopped me on the ground. She told me that I was never to treat my mother with disrespect again, and she asked another little girl to finish the division for me. That moment has stuck with me, as it was meant to, and I tell the story all the time when I hear other kids being sassy. I probably need to remind Sean of that story tonight.
I hope Sean’s behavior yesterday was a one-off, but I am certain that if it happens again in front of any of his trainers, there will be consequences. Riding isn’t just about horse shows and ribbons.
Hillary Morrow lives with her husband, sons, dogs and cat in Columbia, Maryland. When not at the barn riding her TB hunter, Patch, or grooming for her son and his IEA teammates, Hillary runs Fairchild Educational Services, a full-service tutoring firm.
