When you are a kid, you spend your summers playing in the sprinklers, going to the local pool and swimming for $2.00 in urine and phermones, waiting to hear the ice cream truck tinkle by and going to awesome summer camps while their parents get drunk and have sectual relations. Not me. All I had on my mind was horses. I was THAT girl.
Looking back, it's amazing I wasn't at the top of my 8 year old social circle. I had a wicked cool perm complete with bangin' bangs, buck teeth and smelled like horse sweat and leather. Every Friday my class would have show-and-tell and everyone would groan when I would shoot up my hand lightning fast to go first. Usually I would talk about my horse or something my horse did or perhaps even something my horse didn't do but I couldn't think of anything cool that had happened that week so I just made shit up about the horse. Very occasionally I would veer away from the equestrian chat but likely would return the following Friday to recant my standing on a saddle riding in a circle while New Kids on the Block Played in the background of my stable on a tape player plugged in next to an RC cola machine. (this really did happen and was as awesome as it sound, but no one believed me!)
There was one time though that I lugged 3 garbage bags full of Care Bears the half mile to school and pulled each one out and spouted off their names and respective Care Bear power when it was my turn. I still can't believe my teacher let me do that. I am pretty sure the only reason he did allow my fodder is because I knew he was boning the music teacher, even though I really didn't what boning was until 4th grade and even then I definitely had some serious inaccuracies.
Anywho, horses.
When my mom sold my horse, there was this giant super duper sized hole missing from my heart and my Fridays were filled with other kids telling lame story's that did not include horses. Her and my dad thought that as the school year came to an end, maybe I could attend a summer camp to get my mind off of my loss.
Surprisingly in the late '80's there weren't very many summer camps that weren't for fat kids or delinquents so I ended up attending a church camp. A HORSE church camp. I didn't give two shits that my mom had to buy a bible to send with me at a garage sale (she wouldn't let me take the 15lbs gold embossed King James edition under our coffee table) and I didn't care that I was going to spend 3 hours every evening in prayer, worship and reflection. There were going to be horses, damn it!
I showed up that day with my hopes high. I my mind, it was going to be like an episode of "Hey Dude". I would make friends with the ranch hands, sneak out late at night to go ghost hunting on the ridge and teach all the lesser camper the finer techniques of riding bareback and being generally awesome at everything horse related.
That all screeched to a halt when they put a helmet on my head...
"No no no...I can understand your confusion, but my mom checked "advanced" on my application. I don't need a helmet, I have a well worn cowboy hat that I intend to wear over my bad perm." You see, in my world, you only wore a helmet if you were a beginner or mentally handicapped being trotted around the circle for therapy.
The sweet Christian lady just smiled and welcomed me to the safe way to ride where everyone feels included and no one feels like they are behind. Now god bless and if you want to put money on your commissary account you may do so right over there..." I vowed to straighten it out later with the ranch hands where I would throw some advanced lingo out there like "does this horse prefer a Martingale bridle?" and they would be so awed that an 8 year old knew so much they would let me pick the prettiest and fast horse and let me leave my helmet for one of the Downs' kids in the following week.
We walked over to the commissary and my mom wrote a check for $20.00 to put on my account. (prison much?) The 15 year old behind the swinging half door showed me all the Red Vines and Sour Patch Kids and as I drooled in anticipation of stuffing my face full of Caramellos he informed my mom that she would probably have a balance returned since the kids could only buy 1 candy item per day. What the bloody hell?!? How am I supposed to make friends if I can't bribe them with treats to come up on my top bunk and braid my hair? Ugh...
I tried to stand out as much as possible. I wore my jeans OVER my boots so I didn't look like a (I need an 8 year old word for nOob), I tried to make conversation with the counselors. Nothing I did got me out of that helmet and into the horses and Caramellows. There were no ranch hands to shmooze. In fact it wasn't even a ranch. It was a dorm with a stable! Every night we trompted through the woods with our bibles and sat ob bleachers around a campfire and talked about the lord, and all lordly things. I couldn't really add too much here since I was kind of a heathen but then we would sing! This is where I knew I could stand out. I would sing loudly the words I knew, really loudly. " errmmmly lift ME UP AND mmrrrr man sirrrrr reJOICE!!!" I got attention that's for sure.
About the third day there we were all at breakfast when the Leader of the camp came in. This was HUGE! It was like a visit from Joseph Smith himself! We had all heard about this man, but no one had seen him. He was dressed in worn jeans and a purple camp t-shirt. Totally legit. He told us that we had been sent, each one of us to do good in this world and it starts today. He needed 25 kids to go out back behind the barn and help move some earth that was sliding into the creek and poisoning all the little fishies and crawdads. My hand shot up like it was show-and-tell Friday. SO far this camp sucks, but it all changes now....
25 of us, 4 camp counselors and the Leader walked behind the barn listening to how we are the very best youth there is. We are the future leaders of America. We make God PROUD! I was beaming like the hand of God had touched me directly and not inappropriately.
I made a vow that if someone shoveled fast, I would shovel faster. When people took breaks, I wouldn't. I would be there flinging what needed to be flung into wheel-barrels while others looked on admiring my strength and tenacity. This happened, oh yes it did. I shoveled for 4 straight hours. That evening I had to go to the nurse because I had so many blisters on my hands that my 15 year old camp counselor was grossed out by the thought of me touching anything in our room. My muscles hurt so bad I couldn't ride the next day on the Holy Trial Ride. I just layed there thinking that I made them proud, I stood out! They would remember me. I might even get my name on a plaque for how hard I worked. It was worth it not being able to get off the toilet without using the handicapped arm rails because I was the favorite!
I knew at the time that we were shoveling the manure and shavings from the barn away from the creek, not "earth" as it had been presented. And I knew that some of the kids left that afternoon because of asthma attacks because of the ammonia, but I didn't care. It wasn't until I received an award for being an outstanding student in god's light and the closing ceremony that my dad put it into perspective for me. Him and my mom were so proud of me for the special award so I told them what I had done to get it. I left out no detail including the number of blisters that had formed and been lanced. Tell me how much you love me and the best daughter on the planet, parental units!
"So you got an award for shoveling shit and horse piss for 4 hours so they wouldn't get fined for contaminating a running water source?" Well...when you put it that way, it sounds far less glamorous...I still want my plaque.
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