My Favorite Day Of The Year

Churchill Downs - Louisville Kentucky

Derby Day.

The mere thought of the day conjures poignant road markers from memory. The scent of my mother’s rosewater; and that of the peculiar mixture of mint, bourbon, and tobacco on my father’s breath, as he knelt to properly tie my bow tie; and that of the Kentucky grass, and earth, on every first Saturday of May that my childhood memories still retain. Flashes of scarlet: my mother’s Chanel hat, reserved for wear only once a year, at Churchill Downs; the single, perfect rose affixed to my father’s jacket; and, of course, the fabled shawl of roses draped over the winning horse. Laughter. Excitement. Words.

“Nothing else exists but that shawl of roses.”

Indeed, it does not.

My inner circle of friends and those more regular readers of Curious Affairs will already know that horse racing is the only “sport” that truly inspires any sort of meaningful “sports writing” from me. Except it’s not even really “sports writing” so much as it is an excuse to wander through happy memories of my childhood, when my family’s annual triptych of trips to watch the Triple Crown races each year smacked of nothing but excitement. Even later, as an adult, when the Triple Crown races began marking prominent events or statuses in my life that were not always happy, I still welcomed the beginning of the races with gladness. For it is usually on Derby Day, that day on which any horse, really, can win, and on which no one is yet rabidly rooting for the next Triple Crown Winner, when I most adore wandering through memory, and winning, and…hope.

Because for me the tradition of the Triple Crown was not ever about how much money one could make from their picks (although my father seemed to have an almost preternatural talent for picking precisely those colts that would win, including the last three Triple Crown Winners). It was about the pride that one had in their picks, or in the horses they had raised, and trained, and sent to the races. It was about the validation that one would feel when their horse did, in fact, win the race. And it was about hope, not only that ones horse would win the Derby, but that this horse would go on to win the next two races, thereby gracing the world of horse racing with its next Triple Crown Winner.

Over the years, for better but also sometimes for worse, these values have crept into other areas of my life, as well, until Derby Day has become a day of celebrating those three tenets of horse racing, and of life. And although sometimes, as for this 135th Derby Day, I may not be in the most fabulous of places in my life, this day still always inspires me to take pride, no matter how unfabulous things may seem at the time, in my life, and to endlessly hope for the acquisition of my own figurative shawl of roses, and, perhaps most importantly of all, to never lose sight of winning.

And so that is why, tomorrow, on this first Saturday of May, as I scream hysterically rooting for jockey Gabriel Saez to ride trainer Larry Jones‘ colt Friesan Fire to victory in The 135th Running Of The Kentucky Derby, I shall be smiling.

For the memories of Derby Days past.

And for the hope of those to come.

Friesan Fire - Image Copyright Andy Lyons / Getty Images

Filed under: Events, Personal, Triple Crown , Churchill Downs, defining moments, family, Friesan Fire, Gabriel Saez, history, horse racing, Kentucky, Larry Jones, linkage, Louisville, love each day, memories, needful reminders, red carpet situations, sports, The Kentucky Derby