Week 50 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge is Traditions. One of my favorite family memories and traditions is “Pony Boy” with Grampy Phil. From the time we could sit up on our own he’d place us on his foot, grab our pudgy baby or toddler hands, and bounce us to the rhythm of his warm voice singing:
Pony Boy! Pony Boy!
Won’t you be my Pony Boy?
Ride along, sing a song,
Happy as can be!
Ride along, sing a song,
Happy as can be!
Giddy up! Giddy up! Giddy up!
WHOA! My Pony Boy!
Grampy Phil was one of those rare men who absolutely adored babies, toddlers, and young children. He was always hands-on and affectionate, quick to cuddle and comfort a crying little one, or get down on his hands and knees and play with us on the floor. Each of his children and grandchildren remembers Pony Boy fondly. He bounced us high up on the end of “Happy as can be!” and “WHOA!” and bounced us faster and faster on “Giddy up! Giddy up! Giddy up!” while we giggled.
I don’t know if the tradition started with Grampy or if it was passed down to him through his parents. Curious about the origins of Pony Boy, I did some research and found it was a 1909 children’s song by Bobby Heath and Charley O’Donnell. The original version is much longer, but the tune is the same (and can be heard here):
Way out west, in a nest from the rest, dwelt the bestest little Bronco Boy.
He could ride, he could glide o’er prairies like an arrow.
Every maid in the glade was afraid he would trade his little heart away
So each little peach made a nice little speech of love to him.
Pony Boy, Pony Boy, won’t you be my Tony Boy?
Don’t say no. Here we go, off across the plains.
Marry me, carry me, right away with you.
Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up, whoa! My Pony Boy.
Till one day, out that way, so they say, came to stay a fluffy ruffle girl.
She made eyes, she surprised, and he found his heart was lassoed.
When he thought he was caught, how he fought, but she taught this pony boy to love.
But he balked when he talked of a trip to New York, so she sang to him:
Pony Boy, Pony Boy, won’t you be my Tony Boy?
Don’t say no. Here we go, off across the plains.
Marry me, carry me, right away with you.
Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up, whoa! My Pony Boy.
Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up, whoooooooa! My Pony Boy.
Apparently, Bruce Springsteen even released a version of the song in 1992 with slightly different lyrics. Grampy was singing this long before Springsteen. More likely than not, someone would sing this song to him when he was little, or maybe he even had the record growing up. He probably misremembered the lyrics, and that became the truncated version of the song my family knows and loves.
I was shopping with my mom in 1984 when she happened to see a Pony Boy statue. For our family, it was an extravagant expense at the time - $40 – but she knew how much it would mean to her dad. His face lit up when he opened it on Christmas, and it became one of his most prized possessions. When he died, the statue passed to my mom, and she treasures it for the memories of her father it evokes.
Five LaViolet children, ten grandchildren, and his first five great-grandchildren experienced Pony Boy with Grampy Phil before he passed away in 2009. Though he is gone, the tradition he created is still very much alive in our family. I don’t know if my uncle does Pony Boy with his grandchildren, but my aunt does it with hers. Her little granddaughter climbs onto her foot, all grins and giggles, as she sings to her, “Giddy up! Giddy up! Giddy up! WHOA! My Pony Girl!” I wonder how many of us cousins will carry on the tradition with our grandchildren in the future.
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