Those of you who were or are horse-crazy girls will know what was on our daughter’s mind above, immediately following an hour-long saunter under the pines. Her horse: a sweet, relatively short (13-14 hands?) white gelding named Murdock.
This being California, not only were various straight African American and Latino families also milling around the corral, pre- and post-ride, but a (white) lesbian family was on hand to saddle up a kid or two of their own. I did the full range of smiling eye contact with head-nod hello, and bumped up to conspicuous loitering in their line of vision as a complete foursome after mama and daughter returned, dusty and happy, from the trail.
As I steered us out of the parking lot, the more baba-esque of the lesbian parents was leaning against their mini-van, chatting on her cell phone (this being America). Ready this time for yet another of my eager eye contactey “Hey! Hi! Look, we’re like you!” things, she humored me with a smile and that debonair tip-of-the-index-and-middle-finger-to-the-temple salute thingie, typical of the suave movie actors of the ’30s and ’40s.
“Baba, why are you waving to her?” asked the boy child from the back seat.
“That was another baba, Little Bit, and we just like seeing each other.”
“Hail, fellow,” I thought to myself; “well met.”