Tough guys cry too, even if it's about a horse

I stood by a row of pickup trucks and cried. It was the first time I had seen a horse in three years.

BM Pack’s White Hawk isn’t my horse anymore. My mother sold him years ago because I was away at college and when I was in town, going to the beach or other things were far more tempting way to spend my time. It was a choice I wholeheartedly agreed with, a horse deserves to be shown affection and ridden, and his new owner is a little girl whose family rides him three times a week.

Still, when Rhelia and I pulled into the gates of the Berrien County Youth Fair that August day I was overcome by a wave of nostalgia. The fair and showing Hawk was always the culmination of a summer, of a whole year really, coming to an end and the realization I was growing older. School always started two weeks after the fair when I was kid bringing with it worries about classes, friends and football.

If I’m writing this for the blog it may be hard for some people to identify with owning a horse. Showing a horse is hard work, frustration and love meeting together. You spend days upon days in the heat on top of another creature trying to get a cantor right. Part of you is still holding on to that last daydream of being a cowboy. Nights are spent sitting on hay, playing cards for the first time with older boys. The first girls I had crushes on were 4-H girls, something that my friends made fun of me for when I was older.

In short, visiting the fair made me feel like a quote from Dickens in “A Christmas Carroll.”

He was conscious of a thousand odors floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares, long, long, forgotten.” 
― Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

Rhelia and I walked up and down the same barns I used to sleep in hammocks tied to polls. With help from someone I recognized, my old 4-H club leader, I found where Hawk was.

I could have sworn I heard whinny as I walked in the barn. Each paint horse I saw my hopes jumped up and fell back down as I looked at brown eyes instead of his signature blue. Paint horses are in my mind, the way a horse should look. Close your eyes for a second and think of an Indian Warrior on a horse. What you see is a Paint, and hawk always seemed to have a bit of that vibe in him.  

So I was sad that when I saw him he looked tired. He had just been shown twice earlier that morning seemed half asleep. I don’t know if I had watched the Budweiser Clydesdale commercial too often or what, but I expected him to come up to me and somehow speak, somehow say he knew I was sorry for leaving him.

He stood a few feet back in the stall though. I was wearing sunglasses but it was obvious that tears were streaming down my face. I took them off and reached through the bars to touch him. He stayed silent. Finally he came forward and I rubbed his nose. He raised his lip, a bad habit but fun game I used to play with him. After a moment he went back and seemed to go back to sleep.

“We’ll come back later, I think he’s tired.” Rhelia said.

I nodded and we walked out the back of the barn and she asked me if I was ok before looking at my face. She hugged me and we started walking towards the parking lot. She asked me if I need a moment alone and I said yes and went off by myself for a moment.

I don’t know how certain places can kick start your brain. Nostalgia and melancholy are words that seem ugly to me, reminding of whiney emo bands that wear black or cry about not being loved enough. But what I was thinking as I rested on a strangers tailgate was that I was re-living events that at most times I could barely even remember. They smashed forward before my eyes like a mini movie projector.

All that sweet un-tampered feelings of hope and innocence seemed real again. I remembered my grandpa showing me the new horse while he sat on a John Deer riding tractor, and the excitement that I felt that day. I thought about riding Hawk next to a girl who liked me, afraid to hold her hand. Of daydreams I had a kid of playing pro football and reading Treasure Island. Back than playing for the Detroit Lions seemed that it would be easier than finding someone stand arm length apart from and shuffle feet with at an awkward middle school dance.

After I composed myself we walked to the sheep and swine barn. The night before I had dreamed that Rhelia and I lived in big house in the country and had a pig named Harrington. Sheep and goats have always been some of my favorite animals, the idea of farm life implanted in me by my grandfather. Sometimes I think maybe Rhelia and I should just pack up and rent a farmhouse somewhere.

Hawk was still on my mind, but I was happy I still knew all the best food stands. The Korn Dogs stand was the cheapest and best place to get food at, and the proceeds went to charity. After we stuffed ourselves with fried food we cooled ourselves off with lemonade at the 4-H stand, a place I worked summers as a kid.

The walk around the commercial buildings was about as boring as I remembered it, and when we went to the traveling carnival I was amazed at how little things had changed, the only difference being that things were a lot smaller now. Rhelia wanted to ride all the rides, but that would have cost $40, money we really didn’t have

“We’re too big to ride all the rides, we wouldn’t fit,” I said. “Let’s just ride two rides, and call it a day.” I wanted to take the Ferris wheel, because I had just read “Devil in the White City” about Chicago’s World Fair, when the first Ferris wheel was unveiled. I don’t really have a fear of heights, but I get dizzy when thinking about them and almost fall over. Still I wanted to face the fear.

It ended up Rhelia was really terrified of Ferris Wheels. It didn’t help that, the steel groaned when we first went around during a spin. Just for the record, traveling carnivals are not designed for people who are 6’2 and 250 pound like me. I almost hit my head and realized that most of the other people in the lines were kids. Although it was a nice view when we were stuck at the top, if I was a kid I might have screamed, but instead I just grabbed hold of the center of the ride and held on.

We were planning on going on another sky high ride afterwards, but after being afraid up in the air we decided to go on the artic rush or whatever it's called, a ride that goes around in a circle at high speed. I sat on the outside and when the speed kicked in, Rhelia slammed into me with inertia. My side went into the metal car and smashed my kidneys. It hurt a lot and I was in agony. When the ride was over, I had a large bruise on my side.

Sore, we walked back around and went to watch the We Can Ride 4-H club show class. It’s a group for people with disabilities to help them live more normal lives. The whole thing is a pretty nice organization. Finally we got ready to see Hawk before we left.

The second time we visited him I tried to keep my guard up, thinking he would be tired and ignore me again. So I had a big smile on my face when he came up and stuck his nose though the stall bars, before he couple of times he walked around the stall, but came back to see me. His owners were still gone so I didn’t go into the stall again. It seemed to go a lot better the second time.

I said goodbye again and when we were leaving I again ran into my Kay, who is still a leader in 4-H. She asked how it went and when she realized I was still upset she asked me if I went in the stall, I told her no.

“For Pete’s sake, why not,” she said. She is really the type of person to say that.

We walked back and Hawk right up to me when I walked in the stall. No one was around except for Rhelia, Kay, Hawk and I. Or at least it seemed that way. I hugged around the neck and he wrapped his head around me. He smelled that same, it felt the same. A couple of weeks later writing this down, I feel like I can still remember every second spending time in there.

I thanked Kay and said goodbye. Rhelia and I walked to the car and she said it really seemed that he remembered me that time and she thought he was glad that I came back and went in the stall.

Maybe it’s stupid to think that a horse has a memory like a people do. That’s a question better left to scientists. Maybe I was projecting all those thoughts and emotions I was feeling at that moment about my life that made me so emotional. But if I’, asked what my feelings about it is, than yes, I think Hawk remembered me.