He stands alone. Waiting. Slyly staring at me. For thirty-nine years numerous riders laughed, bounced, and galloped on his sturdy body.
When his ear was pulled, he never whinnied or bit. There was no bucking when his tail was yanked. An ear was reattached, and his tail became frayed.
Adult hands lifted wee ones onto his back and gently rocked his body. More courageous ones leaped high and skidded across the room. Dare devils stood and balanced on his bare back. Make believe became reality.
Strong, capable hands lovingly cut, sanded, assembled, and painted the special rocking horse for a great grandson’s Christmas gift. Over time, those hands slowed and finally stopped. But memories and the horse remain.
The initial rider and his sister left home for new adventures. Cousins and friends took turns, but they also disappeared. But through divorce, remarriage, and several moves, the little horse stayed with me.
For several years, he was relegated to the garage or attic. But with the next generation, his dusty body was cleaned and shined. For eighteen years, five granddaughters have taken turns on his solid, well built body. The years have changed the riders. Only one remains small enough to really enjoy the journey. Before long, she will also move on to bigger things.
As my grandfather built the little horse in his home shop, I am sure he never imagined the delightful memories that would be made. Only the first few riders even knew him, but his legacy continues.
What legacies will we leave behind?
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