• First came Flame, a massive and stunningly beautiful quarterhorse. His coat was a gleaming deep chestnut and his mane and tail were pitch black. He was gentle and easy to ride. His rich brown eyes were framed with long lashes and his gaze was as soft as cashmere.
• Next was Sir Dan -- a young dapple grey that was learning the ropes. He was small with youth, but his muscled shoulders hinted at the grand horse he would become. Like a teenage driver with a lead foot, Dan liked speed. When on the lunge rope, he'd prance with the hope of running; when loose, he'd streak across the pasture with wild abandon.
• Then there was Tina. My girl. She was mostly white but had dark grey hairs scattered throughout. No matter how well groomed she was, she always looked a bit dirty. She was stubborn, smart, and full of spirit.

The other kids all gravitated to Flame like moths to, well, a flame. But I loved Tina. She was too cunning to let all these novices ride her without giving them a little bit of grief. She had attitude and spunk and I loved that about her. With time she accepted me and, while she'd fight any other kid's direction, she followed even the slightest nudge from me. She was my friend.

After taking every lesson I could take, I had the opportunity to "rent" Tina for the summer. My parents paid by the month for me to ride my bike to the stables twice a day and care for Tina. I fed her, I groomed her, I mucked out her stall, and I rode her as much as I wanted. In retrospect the ranch was getting a lot of work out of me and getting paid to let me do it. It was really backwards. To my parent's credit, they never questioned the money -- they knew how important it was to me.

During that summer a yearling named Ashes was boarded at the ranch. He had Flame's coloring but Tina's spirit. I liked to pretend that he was their foal. Ashes was for sale, and every day when I was at the ranch I'd dream of his being mine. Renting Tina for the summer was lovely, but a horse of my own was my fondest dream.

By my birthday in early fall I had convinced myself that my parents had bought Ashes for me. What's more, I was certain that I would wake up on my birthday to find Ashes tied to the maple tree in the backyard. Needless to say, that didn't happen. It was the single most disappointing moment of my childhood. I was crestfallen.

Instead of Ashes, I received this pillow for my birthday.

Oh how I hated it. It represented everything I didn't get. It was a decoratively stiched, fluffy square of disappointment. Post-birthday it got shoved to the recesses of my closet and forgotten.

A few years ago my parents brought the last pieces of detritus I left at their house over to my place: the dollhouse my dad made me for Christmas one year, the flower girl dress I wore at my sister's wedding, and the pillow. I remembered it yesterday and realized it would be perfect for the Western theme I'm creating in my future child's room.

After all these years, I no longer attach that feeling of disappointment to the pillow. Instead it reminds me of my biggest passion as a young girl. It reintroduced me to me.

When I decided on doing my kid's room in a Western theme, I didn't consciously realize how much of my own childhood interest I was injecting into the room. But there it is -- my summer with Tina, the hope for Ashes, the hoof falls that were the melody of my youth -- resting on my future child's headboard.

My old dreams and my current dream have shook hands.

Labels: Domestic adoption, Family