Serenity in Saratoga Springs

Serenity in Saratoga Springs

Seriously, mom? You think we can afford horseback riding for Ari right now? Those were my first thoughts when my mother told me she had signed my son up for a free initial class and paid subsequent classes in what I thought was horseback riding. To be fair, it was what she thought was horseback riding as well; still and all, she had signed my baby up for something I couldn't afford to save my life and that he had wanted so badly for so long that I knew I would have to break his heart when I broke the news to him that we are, well, broke. To add confusion to the trepidation of sitting Ari down for a reality chat, I had no idea what to expect since my mom kept talking about gymnastics and horseback riding. Did she sign him up for both? Did they do gymnasitcs and then ride horses? Did the horses do gymnasitics? even went through my head at one point. So, on the appointed Saturday morning (already a problem for this night owl), we loaded into the car and headed for Saratoga Springs; my parents were going to meet us there to watch the first lesson as well.

To truly understand the mass of confusion I faced, allow me to let you in on a secret: I am extremely ill. I have two rare eye diseases (so rare, in fact, that I am the only person to have both at the same time); as a result of those diseases and the "cures" for them, I have been on chemotherapy for four years (I wrote this entry a year ago), have been on oxygen all day and night for two years, know the nurses in the hospital by name (and they not only know me by name but also my kids and their teachers). In addition to all the usual health problems that day, I had shingles on my back and, yes, it's true, in my eyes. I was not in the best of moods, but I had determined that if I could somehow get there, I would never miss a practice of any sport my kids do.

Back to the story: we're headed to Saratoga Springs, and the only directions we have are as follows: go to Saratoga Springs to the tan barn behind Wal-Mart. Luckily, that turned out to be sufficient directions as there is only one road that goes directly into Sartoga Springs. We found the Wal-Mart, turned into the parking lot and just drove until the lot ended, at which point we saw an unpresuming sign announcing Horse Vaulting Lessons. We turned onto a gravel drive, followed it around and up a slight incline and into a parking lot sitting between a large, tan barn and an Ivory Homes house.. People were parked willy-nilly, so we weren't quite sure what to do. As we turned off our ignition, my parents drove up beside us and parked kind of in the middle of the lot. We were over a titch to the side because we wanted to be under any form of shade possible. After lugging my oxygen tank out of the car, we slowly walked up a few broad steps, inlaid with horshoes, and entered the barn proper. As my eyes adjusted, my jaw dropped to see a young man standing on the back of a horse. Not on a horse standing still but on a moving, cantering horse. I took a deep breath and muttered, "not my baby. No, no, nononononononononononono! My baby is not going ot risk his neck with such shananigans. It is simply NOT going to happen." My mother, the one who signed him up for the whole thing, began fluttering in the way she does when nervous.

So concerned was I that I pulled aside a young man who seemed to be in the know and queried, "do you offer any kind of real horseback riding?" Ah, the tactlessness of the ignorant. Having taught diversity classes at the University of Utah, I made it a point to be open-minded about all new people, ideas, etc., but, apparently, when I think the safety of my children is involved, all intentions to be open-minded seemed to fly out the window. "I teach individual riding lessons, but I would not accept a student who hasn't had at least three months of vaulting first." Uh-Hhm I grunted with a strained smile and noncommital nod. I vowed that Ari would not be doing tricks like that, but figured that there was no way he would end up on the horse on the first lesson in such a vulnerable position. I figured it would be something like the first dance lesson in the movie Shall We Dance, where the men plod about with broom sticks and then watch a gorgeous, choreographed waltz by the experts as incentive to keep going. And that is what I thought I saw happening--so much so that I left for the ladies' room, and when I returned, my baby was on the back of a moving horse doing tricks. My heart leapt to my throat, my hand met it there, and then I really looked: my gangly, lovable, wonderfully awkward tween transformed immediately into a graceful, in-control, gorgeous athlete. Such peace radiated from him I couldn't believe it. He was meant to be here.

A woman attending with her granddaughter offered me her chair inside the ring a bit so that I could better watch my son (I found out two weeks later when we read the paper work that parents and non-vaulters are to remain outside the ring); I gratefully sank down, set my oxygen tank to the side and just stared at him. It wasn't until a young girl raced past me with Ari's coach being pulled along behind in her wheelchair that the fact she was in a wheelchair hit me. Thankfully. Had what I saw when we came in translated itself in total to me before I saw Ari on Opal, I may have had even more trepidations. I sat and watched for 90 minutes, the length of a regular lesson. At the end of the lesson, Cambry, Ari's coach, had somehow managed to get herself up on a barrel to spot some of the students while other students worked on a skill called "flying"--an entry for later. Finally, she asked the students to stand in front of her in a semi-circle and to tell her one thing they were proud of themselves for. I remember feeling such gratitude for that one question that I knew the club had my undying loyalty. I am a firm believer in teaching children to be proud of their work--not to be proud of things over which they have no control (the color of their hair, skin, freckles, etc.)--but to recognize the value of hard work, and her question required that kind of introspection. They each answered, and then they did a "break-down" chant and were asked to go and thank the horse who had let them ride her.

I liked the atmosphere of this place. We decided to allow Ari to continue in the sport if he verbalized a desire. On the way back down to Orem that day after his free first lesson, we asked if he enjoyed himself. Without hesitation, he piped, "This is the best day of the year so far." From my understated oldest son, that is a truly amazing statement. We returned the next week. Ari loved it. By the third week, we had decided that since he stretches every night and tries to run or walk a mile every day to prepare for vaulting, we should consider trying to add a second day of lessons. Our younger son, too young by one year to take classes, watches everything anxiously and practices at home with his brother. It truly feels as if my mixed-race, mixed-ability family has found a "social" home--a home filled with adults in charge, setting both boundaries and goals, and allowing the "children" to participate in setting some of their own goals, requiring true learning and effort, giving true feedback and praise when due, and offering heart-felt encouragement at all times.

That is the feeling of Technique Vaulting Club: Home.