Sales Gravy: Jeb Blount

One of the most vivid memories from my childhood was the day I was bucked off of my pony. The pony’s name was Macaroni and I was six. We were in an arena where my mother was giving me my very first riding lessons.  Macaroni was stung by a bee, and she reacted by bucking. I couldn’t hang on and I landed hard on my back. It knocked the breath out of me. I gasped for air. Then as I finally caught my breath, I started bawling at the shock of being involuntarily dismounted.  My mom caught the pony, led her back over to me, and gently told me to dust myself off and get back on. But by this time I was sobbing the way kids do when they’ve cried so hard that they can’t stop.  Failure is Just a Bruise I shook my head and refused to get back on the pony. My mother tried her best to calm me down and reason with me but I still refused to get back on.  Then she took a different tact and got tough. Her stern, direct tone of voice made it clear that she was not asking me to get back on the pony—she was telling me. That's