My Extraordinary Ordinary Life by Sissy Spacek, Maryanne Vollers Page A
Authors: Sissy Spacek, Maryanne Vollers
But every Sunday, Vickie and I would see her talking to our parents at church, and the sweat would drip off of us. She never told on us in all those years.
Sometimes I got in trouble in school without even knowing it. Pop Pearce, who taught science, took points off my grade for every day I was chewing gum in class. Except he never warned me, and I only found out when I got a low grade on my report card.
I couldn’t be mad at him, though, because his wife, Peggy, was one of Mother’s best friends. Peggy was a dear, sweet woman who was frightened of many things. When Pop, who was also the football coach, was with the team on away games, Peggy could only sleep with the radio on and a baseball bat under her bed. When I was about nine years old, Mother would send me over there to stay with her so she wouldn’t be so afraid. She had two children, Mike and Andy, who weren’t that much younger than me, but I babysat for them sometimes. I’ve been friends with Mike and Andy all my life.
I’ve known for a long time that some of the best things in life you just have to wait for, like going barefoot and riding your own horse. I must have driven my father crazy begging him for a pony of my own. When I was eleven or twelve, he finally gave in. Daddy had a conversation with Granville Benton, the president of the bank and the town’s premier horseman, and asked for help in picking the right horse for me.
“I don’t know much about horses,” my dad told Granville. “Do you think you can find one for Sissy that won’t kill her?”
A few weeks later, Granville pulled up in front of our house with a horse trailer. He’d found me a twelve-year-old buckskin roping horse, well behaved and small, somewhere between fourteen and fifteen hands. I couldn’t believe my luck. He was so beautiful, with a dark mane and tail and a tawny coat, the color of the quarry rocks they use to build houses in Central Texas. I named him Buck, and he turned out to be as smart as he was gentle. I learned to ride him bareback. I cried when I finally put a saddle on him and lost that physical connection, the heat of his coat and the feel of his spine and his muscles working as he moved.
About the same time Vickie got a pinto she named Rebel Joe. He was very young and athletic and was quite a character. She would give him a pop on the rump with a little wire switch to get him to go, but it would also make him buck. We thought it was fun to ride bucking horses, and I got good at hanging on. Pretty soon I started fancying myself a real cowboy. When we watched Bonanza on television on Sunday nights, I’d imagine myself as the fifth Cartwright, rounding the corner right after Little Joe.
Vickie and I rode our horses all over the county, sometimes as far as Lake Quitman. We’d lope along the highway in the summer heat, stopping at the filling station about halfway to drink a Coke and water our horses. I’d give Buck a coffee can filled with water; he’d hold it between his teeth and tip his head back to drink.
One time I was riding Buck out to the lake when a guy drove by in his pickup and slowed down alongside us.
“How much you take for that horse?” he shouted.
“A million dollars!” I said, throwing my chin in the air. I meant it, too.
As much as I loved that horse, I had a lot to learn about taking care of him. I gave him pneumonia by swimming him in the cold lake after the long, hot afternoon rides. Vickie and I would take off our saddles and ride the horses bareback, then swim around with them all afternoon. One day Buck started coughing. “Why are you doing that? Stop it!” I told him. Luckily a course of antibiotics fixed him right up.
After that I joined the 4-H club out in Coke to learn more about horsemanship. Mother would drive me out to the dusty rink in her Buick with a homemade trailer hitched to the back. Around the same time, Robbie got a bay quarter horse named Gunsmoke that never wanted to be separated from Buck. Gunsmoke
Sometimes I got in trouble in school without even knowing it. Pop Pearce, who taught science, took points off my grade for every day I was chewing gum in class. Except he never warned me, and I only found out when I got a low grade on my report card.
I couldn’t be mad at him, though, because his wife, Peggy, was one of Mother’s best friends. Peggy was a dear, sweet woman who was frightened of many things. When Pop, who was also the football coach, was with the team on away games, Peggy could only sleep with the radio on and a baseball bat under her bed. When I was about nine years old, Mother would send me over there to stay with her so she wouldn’t be so afraid. She had two children, Mike and Andy, who weren’t that much younger than me, but I babysat for them sometimes. I’ve been friends with Mike and Andy all my life.
I’ve known for a long time that some of the best things in life you just have to wait for, like going barefoot and riding your own horse. I must have driven my father crazy begging him for a pony of my own. When I was eleven or twelve, he finally gave in. Daddy had a conversation with Granville Benton, the president of the bank and the town’s premier horseman, and asked for help in picking the right horse for me.
“I don’t know much about horses,” my dad told Granville. “Do you think you can find one for Sissy that won’t kill her?”
A few weeks later, Granville pulled up in front of our house with a horse trailer. He’d found me a twelve-year-old buckskin roping horse, well behaved and small, somewhere between fourteen and fifteen hands. I couldn’t believe my luck. He was so beautiful, with a dark mane and tail and a tawny coat, the color of the quarry rocks they use to build houses in Central Texas. I named him Buck, and he turned out to be as smart as he was gentle. I learned to ride him bareback. I cried when I finally put a saddle on him and lost that physical connection, the heat of his coat and the feel of his spine and his muscles working as he moved.
About the same time Vickie got a pinto she named Rebel Joe. He was very young and athletic and was quite a character. She would give him a pop on the rump with a little wire switch to get him to go, but it would also make him buck. We thought it was fun to ride bucking horses, and I got good at hanging on. Pretty soon I started fancying myself a real cowboy. When we watched Bonanza on television on Sunday nights, I’d imagine myself as the fifth Cartwright, rounding the corner right after Little Joe.
Vickie and I rode our horses all over the county, sometimes as far as Lake Quitman. We’d lope along the highway in the summer heat, stopping at the filling station about halfway to drink a Coke and water our horses. I’d give Buck a coffee can filled with water; he’d hold it between his teeth and tip his head back to drink.
One time I was riding Buck out to the lake when a guy drove by in his pickup and slowed down alongside us.
“How much you take for that horse?” he shouted.
“A million dollars!” I said, throwing my chin in the air. I meant it, too.
As much as I loved that horse, I had a lot to learn about taking care of him. I gave him pneumonia by swimming him in the cold lake after the long, hot afternoon rides. Vickie and I would take off our saddles and ride the horses bareback, then swim around with them all afternoon. One day Buck started coughing. “Why are you doing that? Stop it!” I told him. Luckily a course of antibiotics fixed him right up.
After that I joined the 4-H club out in Coke to learn more about horsemanship. Mother would drive me out to the dusty rink in her Buick with a homemade trailer hitched to the back. Around the same time, Robbie got a bay quarter horse named Gunsmoke that never wanted to be separated from Buck. Gunsmoke