My Horse Story

When I was very little, I dreamed of having a horse. I had cowboy clothes, a hand-tooled holster with a life-sized Colt .45 (made for me by my grandfather but way to big to fit at the time, although I wore it as an over-the-shoulder holster), a felt hat with wire in the brim, a lasso, and an imagination that could not be outdone. But we lived in a small town on a small lot in a small house, so having a horse was not possible. At five, I had to undergo open heart surgery to repair an aortal defect. My surgeon at Children's Memorial Hospital in Chicago called me his "brave little heart patient." I spent two weeks in the hospital, still dreaming of being a cowboy. Someone even sent me a plastic model of a palomino stallion. At five, I didn't have the skill to put it together well, so my dad helped me. We painted the horse's stockings white, gave him a white blaze and carefully attache the "realistic hair" mane and tail. He was my steed.

Ok, so let's fast-forward to 2006. I had been volunteering at a small day camp in northwestern Pennsylvania, first in their archery program and then, to my joy, in their equestrian program. One horse in their herd, an American Bashkir Curly gelding named Braveheart, was sort of an outcast. He never grew more than a few inches of mane and tail hair (Curlies shed their winter coats and, often lose mane and tail hair as well. Most, however, grow it back.). He had not been started as a colt so he was behind in his training. I felt for him and could relate. Because of my physical issues as a youth, I was scrawny, weak, looked different and was ridiculed. Anyway, I mentioned to the owners that I would love to own Braveheart. To my surprise, they told me that if I could arrange for a place to keep him, I could have him. Now I had a real steed!

Fast-forward again. In my work as a college professor, in theatre arts, I am often looking for unusual items on the internet. Once, while looking for Scottish kilts, I happened upon the history of the clan tartan of my Scots/Irish ancestors. To my amazement, no, more like slapped me quiet shock, I discovered that one of my clan ancestors had fought alongside William Wallace, aka "Braveheart."

Isn't it interesting how the universe, or God (my choice), puts you in the right place at the right time? I went from being a dreamer to a brave little heart patient to a dreamer to owning a horse named Braveheart. You could say coincidence, but I believe otherwise. Those words were spoken to me in 1962 because it was all part of the plan.