Passing the reins to the next generation

That’s my daughter, Rebekah, on the left, and her daughter, Lillian on the right. They’re both riding the same horse, built by my Pawpaw, Lillian’s great-great grandfather.

I try not to make a habit of writing about the same thing over and over again (unless you count the never-ending Year in a Death series or the steady stream of Houston Post nostalgia), but when a picture of my granddaughter arrived earlier this week, I knew I’d have to revisit one of this blog’s first stories.

Little Lillian was really too small to ride when we first led my old pony to greener pastures in Virginia, but she’s old enough now that she can get in a good gallop whenever she wants to, just like her mother used to do on the back porch of our old house in Austin, Texas.

So relax, I’m not going to waste more of your time by retelling my horse’s entire life history, though I will point you in the right direction if you’re in the mood to read something nice that you might have missed. I just want to say how happy it makes me to see the photo of our family’s newest equestrienne, and say how proud my Pawpaw would have been to see his creation still putting smiles on the faces of people who would not enjoy the gift of life if not for him.

My wife and I, shortly after we were married, with my Nana and my Pawpaw, a man who knew how to wear a hat and how to make a mighty fine horse.

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