Horseshoe

       I was asked to speak about Russia for a large audience. I’d been thinking for several weeks about the theme that would be relevant to my listeners. I didn’t want to talk about the Mafia or poor markets, economic disaster or political corruption, Cold War or Khrushchev, etc. - I was neither a politician nor an economist.

       Eureka! It came to me! I remembered how one of our American friends visited my parents’ house in Russia and noticed a horseshoe above the door.

       “Look, your horseshoe is upside down! You need to correct it!”

       “What do you mean, ‘upside down’?!” I looked up and found nothing wrong with our lucky horseshoe; in Russia, to find a horseshoe on the road is good luck. People hang them above their doors, just as in the West.

       “No wonder your wealth and happiness is running out! If you kept your horseshoe right, then you‘d be lucky and rich! No wonder Russia is so poor!” 

       “In America, the ends of the horseshoe look up, not down. We believe that luck collects and builds up, not like your tradition. The way you hang it, upside down, makes your happiness run down.” 

       It was funny to blame an old rusty horseshoe for hundreds of years of all Russian misfortunes, but I liked the symbolism our American friend came up with. This is it! I will use this story!

       The problem was finding a horseshoe. I went to store after store, and still no horseshoe. On the night before my presentation, I thought about making a horseshoe and was advised to go to the best crafts place – Hobby Lobby. Nothing there either. Finally, the Styrofoam aisle inspired my creativity. The problem, though, was that the only Styrofoam ring I found possible to reshape into a horseshoe was at least 18” in diameter. In an hour, I had a gigantic black horseshoe and a story that started, “Everything is big in Texas, even horseshoes...”

       Over two thousand people broke down in hilarious laughter when I raised my black handmade horseshoe above my head, upside down, and began my story. I waited patiently for the laughter to settle down and then began unfolding my story about Russia.

       After the break, I was told that someone wanted to talk to me. A lady I never met came to me with a bag in her hand, “I have a gift for you! During the break, I went to a local garage sale and found this.”

       In the bag, I found a red wooden horseshoe with colored flowers painted over. Perfect, not a horseshoe of Texas proportions. I came home and wanted, at first, to hang my gift the American way, but then, bravely, hung it above the door our old-fashioned Russian way – the way of hardworking but unfortunate Russian people like my grandfather; the only way I knew.