This rocking horse was a gift to me from my grandpa when I was a boy. My parents saved it and passed it along to me when our first daughter was born. As you can surmise from the photo, it’s seen better days.
We didn’t have a convenient place to keep it in the house any more. When I set it on the patio for the girls to play with outside, Kristin warned me the weather would ruin it. I didn’t care. It’s just an old rocking horse.
It’s become unridable – even dangerous. Pieces of wood have splintered off, leaving lots of jagged edges. So I carried it out to the curb.
Jaimes, my five year old, came out and asked what I was doing. I explained that Horsey was falling apart so I was leaving him out with the trash. She protested. I put my hand on her shoulder as we stood looking at the neglected toy.
“It’s just a rocking horse,” I said.
“Bye, Horsey,” she said.
Jaimes went back into the yard, but I stood there a moment. I could remember being just a little taller than Horsey. I thought of my grandpa—my papa, who knew the toy maker who made the horse. Papa died in a car accident when I was 19. I thought about him—his gentle demeanor and terrible jokes. I thought about his car—the smell of Winston Lights in the red upholstery. I’m not a smoker, but I’ve always liked the smell of cigarette smoke because of the way his car smelt.
I thought about Horsey sitting alone at the city dump. Abandoned and utterly betrayed.
I turned and went inside. I’m a grown man and he… no, it is a wooden toy.
I thought about the other neglected things in my life. Our unfinished kitchen and bathroom. The half-demolished arbor that once covered the patio, protecting Horsey from the rain. Other responsibilities came to mind, like overdue oil changes, projects past deadline at work, and my inability to explain the Trinity to my children.
Horsey didn’t go to the dump. When I told Kristin I was sad about throwing him out, she said we could restore him instead. I told her it would be just one more unfinished project, mocking my shortcomings as a homeowner and as a man. When I started crying she walked out to the curb, picked him up and carried him into the garage.
I’m normally not sentimental, nor am I naturally sensitive toward sentimental people. But today an old, gracious rocking horse helped me see that there’s room for restoration. That all things are waiting to be redeemed.
