Ham and eggs

My Dad (on the left in the ball cap) might not know how to play polo, but he is pretty good at telling weird stories. (SHF, LLC).

My dad (on the left in the ball cap) might not know how to ride, but he is pretty good at telling weird stories.

My dad and are don’t have the average relationship, quite to the contrary, we are sort of twins. Same morals, beliefs, humor, and thoughts. It is kind of cool, but most of the time it is creepy. Now, in seventh grade I was beginning to get burned out on riding and my dad knew it. So, about four in the morning at a horse show we had a talk about what we were going to have for breakfast.

“Summer, can you tell me the difference between dedication and commitment?”

“Well, not really… please explain.”

“It’s all perfunctory, hun, like having ham and eggs for breakfast. A hen can lay an egg every day for most of it’s life, right? So it’s easy, it doesn’t have to try or give that much effort. But, that pig gave half it’s ass to feed you. It worked all of it’s life to go to a slaughter house and end up on your plate for breakfast. That pig was committed. The chicken is dedicated. Now, which are you?”

I never gave it a second thought. I was all in, kind of like the pig.