Today was the day my dear sweet Pony has been waiting half a year for. The first meeting of the Greater Newmentia Brain Trust and Smartypants Association. Or, as some of the unenlightened call it: academic team.
There was a prance in his step this morning. The Pony was definitely feeling his oats. His tousled mane has gone curly again, having grown without cutting ever since his unfortunate shearing last spring. Each morning, I douse his forelock with kitchen sink water, to restore the curls that have stretched out of shape on the pillowcase overnight. This morning, they twisted just right. He had the head of a Roman statue, but with soft hair, not marble hair.
This afternoon, he dashed up the hall to bring his lunch bag to my room. "I'm going now. To my meeting." He was off like Man-O-War out of the starting gate. Ignored my command to STOP RUNNING. The Pony wove in and out of his fellow students like a champion cutting quarter horse. Or, as kids pronounce it around here, a champion cutting carter horse. Away, toward the library, surging like Secretariat down the home stretch.
His coach told him that he'd play JV and Varsity during the first two tournaments. Practice is every Wednesday after school.
The Pony is chomping at the bit. About the double duty with both teams, he said, "Fine with me. Maybe I can get my name on both banners."