First/Worst Barn, in stages

The two years I spent at First/Worst barn have been in my memories for a long time. I don't dream of it as often as I dream of later barns, thank goodness. My family had finally landed in a new, freshly manufactured, uniformed suburbia. I was ten and a half, and had been moved with family 4 times by then. Our last place of residence had been Vancouver, I REALLY didn't want that final move back east. Mom was thrilled, because she missed her family, terribly. I loved living in Vancouver. I had tons of good friends, and then whoops, time to move. At that age, making friends is a little tougher. I made few friends, and the new east kids were just appalled by my western bravado, which was brought on to mask my insecurity and shyness.
I started walking to the F/W barn that first summer. My parents couldn't really stop me, as I was good in school, and good at home. They paid for one riding lesson per weekend, and I put in 16-17 hours of horse time. IF I'd walked a further 2 miles, I would have found a great Best/First barn. I didn't even know it was there, until it was "too late". Parents didn't do much research. After about six months, the F/W barn had to move, much further away, which meant I had to beg Mom to drive me at dawn, every weekend. I put in so many hours of free labour at the barn, that my F/W ""trainer"", what do I call him, ex-RCMP guy, volunteered that I could have free lessons on Tuesday as well. Later, I got all my lessons free.
I had to bum rides from other students for those trips, not always successfully. Poor Mom, I'd start trying to wake her at 6am, every weekend morning. How good she was to me! If only we'd known, just by turning right, we could have saved 50 miles, and years of heartache, just by finding a different barn. I became a master of cajoling rides from other boarders and riders at the F/W barn. My first foray into logistics:) My grades stayed up, and parents really had nothing to complain about, other than the cost, which I kept as low as possible.
Anyway, the F/W barn is where it all started. F/W is where I learned about, well, everything a kid needs to know about life. Just a little sooner than necessary. My parents remained blissfully unaware and still don't know, to this day.
Alcoholism. Pedophilia. Sex. Deceit. Sexual Abuse. A grown-up abusing the trust of a child, love-struck as I was by the horses. Cruelty and ignorance, all in two years. Wow, I grew up so quick. Years later, I still get angry about it. Too bad ex-RCMP died. I'd kick his arse, today. The confusion factor of pre-pubescence kept me silent. My grades started to slip, just a tiny bit. Mom, stressed to the eyeballs by her tense, bitter marriage and her spoiled rotten children, never guessed the truth. I never felt the need to hurt her with the truth, later. No Mom needs to know that kind of truth. It was during those years that I decided to never have kids. I couldn't bear the thought of having to endure what Mom went through. I despised how cruelly Dad teased Mom, and how we were all encouraged to do the same. Didn't seem very fair, to me. Plus, what good were grown-ups anyway? ""Teacher"" had been my idol, my ideal person, with his untold vast sums of equine knowledge. He called me a liar, to his poor, patient wife, in front of my face. I left in tears, never to come back. Then, I went to Second/Worst barn, almost as bad as First/Worst, but sans the pedophilia. I gladly took what I could get. F/W ""Teacher"" got me the gig of riding the horses at Second/Worst Barn. Guess he owed me that much. I was 13.
Hey, where's the horse talk?? F/W barn is where I rode sidesaddle, western, broke wild ponies, cross-country jumping, cooled polo ponies, hacked on the country roads to go swimming in nearby lakes, and jumping into gravel pits, jumping without saddles/bridles/loose, jumping 6 feet, mucked and mucked stalls, cleaned tack and learned the art of gossiping. It wasn't all bad. Horsemanship skills just weren't high on the list of things that needed learning. Riding was easy:) I was the envy of my peers for my natural seat and balance. Long-legged, short-waisted, long gangly arms, broad shouldered, huge hands/feet/nose, I'd force my heels down before sleep every night, stretching the back of my calves until they ached. My hands were as hard as hell.
I shudder now, at what I did to Musket's mouth. I remember being humiliated in one lesson with Brown Derby, I'd been fighting him all the way to the jump. ""Teacher"" put his best rider on Brown Derby, and showed how she could drop the reins, and he'd calmly, quietly jump the jump. OH, the anguish. Oh, the humility! ""Teachers"" best rider rode with her toes turned in, which I also practiced, before sleep each night. I'd sleep in the tackroom, waiting for my ride home, wakening covered in dust and spiders, one leg numb from an awkward position. I was in my own Horse Heaven, with conditions attached. I was a red-headed fright, according to my overly affectionate F/W ""teacher"".
Yes, I saw therapists, later. No, they didn't help much. I'm too ornery for a therapist! I'd much rather write:)

Oh, the memories..
I've read they can fade as you write them down. Here's to fading the memories we don't need anymore, and enhancing the ones we want! I think that's why I need to be in JUST the right humour for GoLightly's facts. I need the facts to be exact, for my reference, and to keep them from fading.
I always firmly believed I'd never forget any of my horses names and stories. Most of them are still there, waiting for me.

To Your Horses.

p.s. Picture is of Flip dog, trying to herd an uncooperative turtle:) Flip is into reptiles, she's forever harassing snakes.
(edited to correct the age I was when I left F/W)