Trust and Fear in the Riding Ring and on Dow Road

Ok, trust is my theme of the month. May even continue into August, just like my reading of The Book. No, I am not finished yet. Don't tell me!!!!!

I had my last riding lesson (for the time being, stay tuned for more equestrian adventures), and the horse shied at a tractor going past the barn, and nearly threw me off. So this illuminated for me the cognitive dissonance that permeates Jamal's riding instruction. "These horses are so gentle--they will do everything by themselves!" one minute, then "You cannot trust the horses! They could keel you!!!" a bit later. "Pull back on the reins!!!!! Show them who's boss!!!!" , then at the next class, "Not so hard on the reins!!!! They do not need eet!" Ultimately it comes down to, you can trust the horse a little bit. You can't trust the horse in every situation.

Another incident last week--a mentally retarded guy has lived in West Roxbury for decades, and like me, he started out young, and he's getting older and grayer. But he is still kind of a frightening guy. He can't speak, so he makes loud, gutteral sounds, but not in any communicative way. He spends his days and nights traveling the streets looking for cans and bottles to redeem at Shaw's Market.

So . . . the girls and I arrived home. They went out to ride their bikes. I was sorting the mail. I heard blood-curdling screams, and I said to myself, "I've got to go out there and tell them to quiet down!!!" I continued to sort the mail. Then I heard these bellowing noises. The first thing I thought was some teenager was outside fooling around--and then I thought how weird that was--so then I went outside, and saw that the girls were running away from the guy, henceforth to be referred to as Boo Radley, just so I don't have to keep saying "the guy".

I made them come in the house, and I sent their friends back to their house. I saw that Boo Radley was just as flustered as they were, and was beating a quick retreat up the street.

So I calmed them down, and explained as well as I could, that the man has a disability, and cannot talk, so has to make sounds instead. And that when they talked to him, and asked him questions (for that was what had sparked his outburst), they probably scared him, which made him yell. And of course they had millions of questions, which I couldn't answer, but which I knew I must have some answers for, in order to quell their fear, so I came up with theories of behavior, speculated on the Man's homelife, reassured them that they were safe, and so was he. But of course, I was not a totally trustworthy narrator, as we English majors say. But they trusted me.

When my neighbor, the father of the other girls, came over to ask about Boo, I told him that as
far as I knew Boo was harmless, just frightening if you are not used to him, or really, even if you are. He trusted me too, though I am not an authority on Boo's condition or history.

Here are the prayers the girls made that night:
Libby: Please help the Man to get a voice that is clear and strong. And help him to be able to use his words. And please put a sign on our road that says "dead end." (because I had speculated that Boo didn't realize our street is a cul de sac, and maybe that upset him also)
Leilei: Thank you that he has a mom (because I had told them I thought he did have a family somewhere around). Help him get a voice. Help him never to scare us again."

I am not fearful at all. It is almost a disability with me. I should be fearful sometimes. So here is my prayer: Please help me to show my children the world as a wonderful playground. Help me to teach them to navigate the playground with their hearts open, but with eyes open as well.