2020 was my first Christmas alone in the house I grew up in. I moved in around the first of April, in the middle of a renovation that is not finished yet, but at a point where the house is habitable.
The Christmas tree sat in the corner, facing two windows, the same spot it’s been in for dozens of years. It held not only my treasured ornaments, but ornaments from my childhood and from my mother’s collection. It was the first time in my adult life that I had two mantles to decorate.
This house is full of memories, shadows of 4 generations of lives lived here. How many stories were shared and conversations were held in front of the fireplaces, or on the wide front porch? One of my childhood memories is of conversations around the big dinner table, when three generations came together to share stories of our day. I don’t remember the specifics of many of the conversations, but I remember the sense of rightness I had at the end of the day. It was there I learned to treasure conversation, to live with laughter and to share stories, happy and sad, momentous and mundane.
The Christmas memory that is closest to my heart is the year I was 6 years old. I was born loving horses and from the time I can remember I wanted my own horse. My granddaddy, who we lived with, had been an ardent horseman in the past, but the horse loving gene skipped my daddy. My mother still nursed a bad memory of an unfortunate incident with a neighbor’s horse in her childhood, but she went to great pains not to discourage my interest. I remember this particular Christmas, which started out like any other holiday morning with the tree and the gifts from Santa and a big breakfast. My cousins were expected at some point and I remember vividly that my mother told me to look out the front door to see if I saw them coming. I guess I was too young to wonder why they would show up so early. They weren’t there, but standing in the yard was a pretty palomino and white spotted pony with my granddaddy holding the lead rope. To this day I can show you exactly where Lucky was standing.
We had many adventures, both good and bad. In the tradition of ponies, Lucky had his flaws. His special talent was rubbing up against various objects to try to knock me off. But he taught me to hang on and made a rider of me. Lucky eventually gave way to a horse, then another horse, then several more horses and colts and many miles on the horse show road bringing back a trailer load of memories.
You see, my family didn’t just give me a pony. They gifted me with a passion that has lasted my entire life. A passion that led me to friends, places and experiences I will treasure forever. Every child needs a passion. I am convinced that much of the problem with young people who are unfocused and unwilling to commit to a career is that they have not discovered their passion. It might not be a pony, but there is something out there for everyone. I have a friend who bought their young son (future mechanic) a set of good tools and a lawnmower that didn’t run, one of the most genius gifts ever. So, buy that pony, that guitar, that toolbox, that trip to science camp. And if you teach your children nothing else, teach them to never, never give up on their passion. Whether it turns out to be their vocation or their avocation, it will make their life complete.
