Adventures in Saddle Seat
Enjoy the ride.
I stood in the middle of the room, attempting to look sauve, while madly casting my eyes hither and yon. I was looking for a place to sit at the annual awards banquet [AHSHAA]. If I recognized a person, the table was full. If the table had unclaimed places, the people were from other barns.
When I’m in extrovert mode, I have no problem plonking myself down at a table of strangers and introducing myself. However, the night was about celebrating with your own people. Not about making small talk with an orphan of the storm.
There was one spot. It was up front, so I would have a good view of the awards presentation. The faces at the table were all from my barn. The faces were all ones I knew well. Faces I could put a name to in every case.
It was the kids’ table.
I did another circuit of the room, under the pretext of taking another look at the silent auction.
Nope. No room at the inn.
Hmmm. Years ago, at an extended-family reunion, I was relegated to the kids’ table for the first time in my life. I was 16. I was appalled. I had a blast.
Well, why not? I don’t see any other options.
We talked about horses. We talked about shows. We compared notes about the effect of being coached from the side of the ring. I compete at the same level they do. I ride the same horses. I had a blast. The kids didn’t seem to mind the intrusion of grey hair and wrinkles into the middle of their party, or at least they were kind enough not to let on.
In hindsight, it’s not really surprising. I have more in common with the kids, who compete, than with their parents, who don’t ride.
What can I say. I am … ageless. Yeah, let’s go with that. Ageless.
Thank you for reading.