book for the rest of my life, I thought. I just have to hang around Dad all day and Iâll hear a story on every subject known to man. But where was mine, I wondered. What could he possibly tell me that would get me over my horse fear?
Then very slowly I could feel everyone turning their eyes on me.
âJack, do you have anything to tell us about your day?â Dad asked.
I looked at Pete. He was sucking on a lime wedge. He had a story to tell, but he kept it to himself.
âCan I talk to you about this later?â I asked. âIâm not feeling well.â
âCertainly,â Mom said.
I pushed my chair back and limped out of there as quickly as I could. I went to my room and sat on my bed. I imagined our coat of arms, which would be passed down to future generations. There will be a picture of Mom driving a car. Under the picture will be the word Bravery . Dad will
be painted standing on top of a pile of money that spells out the word Success . Betsy will be wearing a little royal crown and under the picture will be Courage . Pete will be pictured leaping off a high diving board above the word Fearless. Then there will be me. Iâll be shown being trampled by a horse above the words Weak Link.
I stood up and looked into the mirror. I wanted to scare myself. âWeak link,â I jeered at my reflection. âWeak link.â After a moment my reflection whined back. âI can live with that.â
Just then Dad came into the room.
âAfter you left the table Pete told us he tried to give you some encouragement. Said it didnât work.â
âIt backfired,â I said.
âWell, I could tell you a story that would point out how facing your horse fears would make you a better man. But instead of making up a story, Iâd just rather tell you the truth.â
He sat down and draped his arm across my shoulders. I had a feeling that the truth was going to be scarier than a story.
âSimply put,â he stated, âyou canât fail. I wonât allow it. You are named after me. If you fail, itâs like me failing. If I hadnât saved that couple, I wouldnât be able to look you in the eyes. If you canât ride that horse, you wonât be able to look me in the eyes. And a son that canât look his father in the eyes is a coward. And if we canât look each other in the eyes we will go through life like strangers.â
âIâll try my best,â I said.
âIâve got great faith that there will be a happy ending to
this story,â he said. âIf you get weak-kneed, just think of me diving into that ocean. It takes courage to be a man.â He slapped me on my swollen thigh, stood up, and left the room.
Â
When I woke up the next morning I didnât even open my eyes. I could hear the wind and rain beating against the windows. It was a day to avoid horses. It was a day to avoid Dadâs eyes. It was a day to avoid mirrors.
I opened my bedside drawer and pulled out my diary. I held it up to the key around my neck and unlocked it. One of the big differences between me and Dad was that he talked all his stories out. I wrote mine down. But since arriving in Barbados I hadnât written a word.
This was a good day to get caught up. I started with the story of the German girls drowning. Then I wrote about Dad being a hero. I wrote down everyoneâs fears. Then I wrote Dadâs stories about the boy on the buoy, the choking baby, and the woman who settled for the wrong man.
But there was one story that wasnât his. It was mine. I wrote the first half of my horse story. The ending would have to wait until I had lived it.
Suddenly I was starved. I had skipped breakfast but was ready for lunch. I went down to the dining room. Pete was eating a club sandwich and French fries. I sat next to him and picked off his plate.
âOnce upon a time,â he started, âthere was a boy who tried to eat an apple in