It is Friday. 4pm. Not a scary time of the week, just a normal non-threatening daylight hour. Despite this trepidation has filled my heart, the small boy beside me tugs at my coat, and I look down knowing before he speaks that he is going to say;
‘Mummmy, I’m bored!’
I am not disappointed and I smile indulgently and then train my eyes back onto my daughter as she approaches the beast. She will require expert help to tame it that is certain.
I flashback to my own first time, the beast seemed to tower over me, the equipment necessary seemed so alien, from a place that adults prevailed, a place that was dangerous, one in which children had to tread carefully. I had survived though, here I was safe and sound and wasn’t I pleased that my little girl was going to be sharing one of the things I had loved at the same age.
As I watch she nears the beast, it stands still, looking innocent enough, sleek white coat glinting in the sunlight and the foothold hanging menacingly down its flank. She ascends the steps and with one mighty push she’s on. She straightens up and looks over at me, the biggest grin spreading across her face. As she is led into a trot, I know that she is feeling the same exhilaration I had felt the first time I had mounted and hidden a horse.
2 months ago