Another wager……..this one gone awry
On May 22, 2014, I was visiting with Dad, who was in rehab after a hospitalization. We had just come back to his room after wheeling out to the pond to see a mother duck and her ten ducklings. Dad was sitting in a reclining chair, looking down at his palms and said, “I still have this scar on my hand.” Although it was very faint, he was correct. The scar ran from the lower part of his thumb traveling partly across the palm of his hand. I asked how he got it, and he told this story.
Race Day
Kenny and a good friend, Fred, were hanging out together. This was on a lovely day in late summer after their 7th or 8th school year. They had walked to a property that ran between Frankfort Avenue and Brownsboro Road. They enjoyed going to this farm because of its large fenced area with a few horses that grazed on the long slope that rose from Brownsboro Road up toward the avenue.
They were standing on the wooden fence at the lower end of the property, enticing the horses to come close enough to be petted on the nose and neck, when Fred had a brilliant idea.
“Let’s ride the horses! We could race them to the top of the hill! I bet you a dime I can win!” It was a bet well worth winning, as ten cents was a lot of money for two adolescent boys.
The adventure was on. They shook hands on the bet; first to the top of the hill would win. After eyeing the horses, they each chose chestnut mares that were very similar in size and appearance. They assumed that the horses were quite tame without really knowing anything about their temperaments.
They climbed the fence and eventually managed to mount their selected steeds. Fred and his horse took off, nearly flying up the hill. Much to Kenny’s surprise, his horse bolted too. All he could do was wrap his arms around the horse’s neck and hold on tight in hopes of not falling off. As both boys raced up the hill, Kenny’s horse had had enough and headed straight for a tree to knock his rider off. Kenny reached out, hoping to push away from the tree, only to find it had very large thorns. One ripped through his hand with a searing pain, tearing open the skin from behind the thumb joint across his palm.
When Kenny dismounted, he saw his hand was bleeding badly. It required stitches, although he couldn’t remember how many. His mother was not pleased with his misadventure.
~Story told, as an afterthought Dad said, “Fred won the bet.”~