The Saga of How I Became a Pirate: Part Duex

If you haven't read The Saga of How I Became a Pirate: Part One, now would be a good time to do so.

SO!

On to part duex. When I became a legit pirate.

Ok. So after getting used to my giant, sweaty, yellowed eye gauze with an actual black eye patch over it (to keep out the light), I started to go back to my usual self. Falling down stairs because of my lack of depth perception, almost falling off ladders because I REFUSE to let people help me.... You know - being adventurous and not thinking things through. It's what I do. Haters gonna hate.

At this camp that I worked at, we would have different night-time activities during the week. Usually there were a few evening campfires, which would take place at Bennington Point. For convenience, I have decided to include a map of camp.

Bennington Point..... on the southwest point of the island.

We would prepare skits, musical numbers, activities, and the like for the campers. I have some AWESOME stories about that. (Hint: celebrity jeopardy where I played the bad-ass velociraptor from Jurrasic Park.) Other nights, we would play risk, or tag, or soccer.

And then, there was my FAVORITE activity.

CAPTURE. THE. FLAG.

For all those who didn't spend their childhoods PINING for the opportunity to play this game, I included a short video explaining the basics.

Yeah. Majestic, right?

Well, if you've ever met me, you would know - I can get PRETTY competitive.

So one wednesday evening, it was capture the flag night. As usual, we got two gallon jugs of washable, non-toxic paint in red and blue to mark the teams. (I include those details to show that Camp Abnaki is awesome at fun AND safety.) The campers would line up in two long, unwashed, slightly smelly lines to get painted. Two counselors (Ian Boyajian and Eric something) were assigned to mark them. They decided to dip their hands in bowls of paint and basically facepalm each camper. So I helped supervise the lines, making sure the campers didn't get in any savage fights, and then I went up to the red team to get my handprint.

The conversation went something like this:

Ian: "Hey Princess." (That was my nickname)

Me: "Hey". *Sticks out my face to be facepalmed*

Ian: "Um, seriously?"

Me: "What? I want to be on the red team. Like the communists."

Ian: "You're not playing."

Me: "Why not??"

Ian: "Remember how you fell down the stairs yesterday, because your depth perception is off?"

Me: "Whatever. I do what I want."

I then dipped my hand into the paint and face palmed myself.

(Side note: That paint was non -toxic and washable, but smelled terrible and was SO ITCHY.)

After some formalities, the game began.

Now, they were being pretty permissive with me, letting me play. I think everyone assumed that I would play capture the flag exactly like I played risk or basketball... hide behind someone and pretend I'm available. NOPE. I'm a freaking CHAMPION at capture the flag.

So after the ichty self-facepalming, I joined my team. They created a strategy which, unsurprisingly, did not include me. They don't even know, I thought. I'll show them!

Okay. Now fast forward about 45 minutes. Our team desperately needs to score. And although most of my existence that summer was ALWAYS in the spotlight (one of three women on a boy's summer camp..... yeah, let's just say I was constantly aware of my gender), this was the one circumstance in which I was overlooked because of my dos equis. Most of the time I was looked over. If you understand the distinction. Mae West did.

I was totally overlooked! So I didn't even have to sneak as I approached their flags, took one, and began walking nonchalantly away. Eventually one of the younger kids noticed..... and I TOOK OFF running.

So there I was, running full out towards the median line, in athletic shorts and a bright pink T-shirt, braided pigtails flying, a pack of sweaty boys in hot pursuit. My lack of sight in one eye was the last thing on my mind.

You know what was my first?

VICTORY.

The sweet mistress of glory. She would crown me, "princess", the QUEEN of capture the flag. True, my cover would be blown, and never again would I be overlooked, but the street cred I would get? Totes worth it.

As I sprinted toward the line, I could hear the chariots of fire theme song playing in my head. I pictured myself looking something like this:

But I'm pretty sure I looked more like this:

I was so close.

And then, all of a sudden, I was tumbling down the hill sideways, with a sharp pain in my knee.

What the heck had happened?

As I lay at the bottom, the bitter taste of failure in my mouth (or was that dirt?), I pondered that question.

Basically, what had happened is this. A counselor decided my victory must be thwarted. So he charged me at full speed. From my right side.

The side where I had no vision.

And in doing so, he had hit me hard enough to sprain my knee. Badly.

So after a quick trip to the hospital on the bigger island nearby, I came back to camp.

With, basically, a peg leg. (immobilizer and crutches.)

This is one of the few pictures from that summer. That's me. In the middle.



I was banned from woodshop for the rest of the summer. Nobody wants to work with an arts and crafts director with a hook.