The lesson

This fall, we decided to give both boys the opportunity to choose one activity to participate in.  Rex chose gymnastics, RoRo chose horseback riding.  I think Shawn's level of pride for his eldest went up about 20 fold with the announcement of his choice. 

So I did the research on where to start such an adventure.  There are plenty of barns around...most of them near our house.  Shawn, however, works with a guy who volunteers his time at a barn in Valley, NE which is about 30 minutes away, who suggested we look into what programs they had. 

This program was a little different.  Not only do they provide riding lessons for all ages, but they run an entire program that provides equine therapy to people with disabilities of all kinds.  If I'm being honest, I thought that sounded pretty cool but it didn't necessarily seal the deal for me.  The little voice in my head (which, incidentally, is dressed not like a devil but instead like a bizarre combination of a penny-pinching, strict police warden with a never ending list of everything that is necessary to not only accomplish, but completely win at,  in order to be ok.  Yep, my mind is a complicated place.) kept repeating concerns about how much it was going to cost and how much time would be wasted just on the drive alone.  I was worried about whether this would be THE BEST horseback riding lessons for our money and time.  I worried and fretted and danced through all the little hoops that the little voice told me to. 

But I signed him up anyway.  And you will never guess what has happened. 

 

This experience has turned out to be not only a fabulous lesson on how to ride, take care of and form a relationship with a horse...but sooooooooooo much more.  In fact, the lessons that come from the horse are icing on the cake. 

 

At each lesson, the teachers have two students in the arena at one time.  Roanin shares the arena with a boy who is maybe 12 or 13 years old.  He has autism.  He is not very verbal, but instead makes lots of loud and sudden noises to himself at various times.  He often needs extra attention and extra instruction.  But the lack of attention and instruction for Roanin during these times is far from being a problem.  It is priceless.  He watches the other boy and notices the differences.  He listens and hears the differences.  He has no choice but to sit atop this mighty beast, of which he has waited all week to learn about, and observe how hard life can be for someone with a disability. 

 

The teacher often has the two boys work toward the same goal with their horses...a little competition of sorts.  Now, please understand that at home during an intense game of Go-Fish or in the battle of who can reach the top of the stairs faster or who can finish their plate the most quickly (for the record - I hate this one for obvious reasons) Roanin is cut-throat.  He uses any opportunity to get an advantage and never fails to explain to everyone else, especially Rexy, how he has won.  He finds ways to compete to feel that soar in his soul.  I get that.  Why do you think I was worried about getting him the best lessons?  The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.  But as I have watched Roanin during these competitions at the barn, he is being transformed.  It's as if his eyes are slowly opening to the idea that winning isn't everything.  In fact, winning sometimes isn't even better.  I can see the concern in his little face when he knocks all the polo balls off the cones and the other boy only gets about half.  Why couldn't he do it?  He's older.  What's different?

 

And the drive.  Oh my gosh, the drive.  It has become one of our favorite times as a threesome.  Since we have moved to NE and more into "town" I have forgotten what a large amount of time we spent in the car back in Texas.  This hour in the car each week with no distractions and just me and the boys has opened up a new little world.  A world in which nothing is off limits to ask or discuss.  We sing, we tell jokes, we count to 200 (while asking what number we were on about every 3rd number), we eat snacks and sometimes stop for special Sonic drinks.  It is the best.

 

And this is where the boys, both of them, started asking about the differences.  They started asking about why certain kids act differently or look differently.  They wanted to know what a disability was and how could you get one?  They wanted to know why it sounds so weird when some of the other kids talk.  And so I answer all of their questions the best way I know how, because I feel like I am only about a step and a half in front of them.  But I am so thrilled with this unexpected opportunity to get a first hand glance at this huge life lesson, I am going to try to do it justice even if I don't have all the answers or don't always answer gracefully.

And the boys are not the only ones reaping the benefits.  I wholeheartedly believe that there is no greater cure for a bad attitude or a sour soul than a perspective check.  The first few trips out to the barn were accompanied with typical Sarah-drama.  A lack-luster attitude due to running behind schedule because I couldn't get the boys to cooperate in getting their shoes on or finding their snacks or stopping their game of who can jump off the couch the highest.  I was rushed, distracted, frustrated and tired. 

 

And then I looked at the moms of the children this barn serves.  And I wanted to punch myself in the face.  How dare I?  How dare I have a bad day or be in a bad mood while being beat down by my able-bodied and able-minded little rug rats in our home with my husband at work earning a living so I can stay at home and be subjected to such conditions?  How dare I be annoyed that my car won't get me to horseback riding lessons fast enough, or that Rex just poked a hole through the Styrofoam cup of cherry-limeade making a mess on my damn leather seats?  I mean really!

 

I remember being short with the boys on our way into our second lesson because they were not following me fast enough through the barn to get to the arena in time.  And that is when I saw another mom carrying her son, maybe a year or two older than Roanin, in her arms into the arena.  Both of his legs were in heavy metal braces and someone else followed behind carrying the oxygen tank that fed the tubes connected to his throat.  He couldn't walk or talk, but carried the biggest smile I have ever seen in my life.  The same smile of his mother watching him smile, who was so happy to carry her boy into the arena to participate in one of the most exciting activities of his life. 

 

And due to the extraordinary blessing this has been on my family, I felt compelled to share (a habit I have).  One day, without forethought or a plan, I simply walked up to mother of the boy that shares the lesson with Roanin and proceeded to tell her how much I admire her.  How great of a parent she is.  How special her son is and how lucky he is to have her.  She immediately teared up, which I always look at as an open invitation for me to cry, and so we both stood there, in that dusty barn, talking about perspective.  She thanked me for the comment and I quickly stopped her and told her it was I that owed her the debt of gratitude.  Without even knowing, her and her son were changing me and my boys.  I am so thankful. 

 

And on the ride back to our house, after explaining that the tubes in the boys throat provided a place for air and for food to get into his body because his mouth and throat worked differently than ours, my boys took turns making a list of "soft foods" they thought would be yummy to eat through a feeding tube.  And I laughed at suggestions for root beer! and smoothies! and applesauce! through some of the sweetest tears I have had, maybe ever.

If you wanna check our barn out, a local magazine did a story on it and featured a picture of my baby.  You can find it here.