THE PONY CLUB

A WORD TO THE WISE: CAUTIONARY TALES FROM A RETIRED PSYCHOLOGIST

When we moved to Newfield, New Jersey as refugees shortly after our escape from war torn Europe, we were the only Jewish family there. And the only new family that had moved into this small town of 800 in a long time. The joke was that it was population 800 counting the cats, dogs and chickens. Of the twelve children in my grade school class, there were eight girls and four boys. Since my family moved there when I was going into first grade, these were the children that I spent eight straight years with in school and in play. It’s hard to believe today, but there were no additions or subtractions to my class of twelve.

Like many small rural South Jersey towns, it was a mostly working class town. But there were several wealthy families who lived on the other side of the tracks from us. Mr J was an executive with the Progresso canning factory nearby, and by Newfield standards was upper class- almost royalty. Their daughter, B. J. was one of the eight girls in my class.

B. J.’s older sister, Shirley got a pink Cadillac convertible for her 16th birthday. And B.J. got a pony for her 10th. I loved animals- any animal, so when she formed a “Pony Club” of girls in my class, I wanted to be in it. The girls in the “Pony Club” were allowed to brush the pony, feed the pony and when an adult was present, ride the pony. I ached to be in the club, but it was by invitation only.

Other girls in the class were asked to join the club, one by one, and I heard about their meetings. The ache got larger. Finally, B.J. asked me to come to my initiation meeting!

On that afternoon after changing out of my school clothes, I rushed to the barn and small field where the pony was housed. B.J. and the four girls who were already members explained that I had to go through an initiation. They would blindfold me and lead me to a secret location. Only after I counted to 100 could I take the blindfold off. Then I too would officially be a member of the “Pony Club”! I was so excited to join in and belong. I was looking forward to the feeding and brushing the pony, but also longing to be part of the “club”

They led me blindfolded to this secret location, and told me to start counting. When I reached 100, I took the blindfold off and found myself all alone in an abandoned dug out cellar like structure which probably used to be a house, but was long since mostly rubble. I finally found my way out after what felt like an eternity. With scrapes and bruises from my climb back out, I got my bearings and made my way back to the field where I had met the girls and the pony. But no one was there!

Now, as a psychologist, I would call it a traumatic experience with a small t. But then, I had no way to process it. I went home in time for dinner, didn’t say anything about the experience to anyone, and stung from the humiliation and disappointment. I have blocked out my experiences with B.J. immediately after, but I know that I no longer wanted or was wanted to be in the “Pony Club”. It became a moot point as shortly after that, the pony “went out to pasture” or somewhere, as he no longer lived in Newfield or belonged to the J. family. I think I tried to pretend that it had never happened, and continued my life of trying to fit into this small town where I didn’t fit.

After graduation from High School, I moved away from Newfield as soon as I could. I only saw B.J. at a few High School Class reunions.

Much later, my husband and I traveled to South Jersey to attend my 50th High School Reunion. Most of the twelve from my Newfield school class were there, as well as many others who we went to the regional High School with. When we arrived, B. J. ran on over eager to talk privately. She had become a travel agent, and had traveled to Czechoslovakia which she remembered as my place of birth. It had opened her eyes, and she wanted to apologize to me. As a traveler to other countries, she realized what I must have experienced as an immigrant to this small town in South Jersey. And she said that she felt bad for years for the way that she had treated me.

I accepted the apology and we spent much of the reunion weekend with her treating me like the princess that she had previously been. She saved seats for us, and waved us over for every meal treating me like a long lost friend. Although, it was far from how I felt treated those many years ago, I received it with a mixture of pleasure and sadness. After all of those years, an apology could still feel affirming and freeing to both of us, but for me, it also confirmed the struggles that I experienced.

WORD TO THE WISE: THERE IS NO TIME LIMIT TO ACKOWLEDGING RESPONSIBILTIY FOR THE HARM THAT YOU’VE DONE.

It is no surprise that The Twelve Step Program of A.A and every religious tradition acknowledges the importance of asking for forgiveness and being forgiven for the harm that you’ve done to others. Taking responsibility and acknowledging your hand in another’s distress is growth producing. It’s Soul Work and like any exercise, it builds strength and well being. It becomes more important as we get older and wiser.