.
For some reason that I still do not fathom, my parents, - who in every other way loved me- chose one summer to put me in a day camp full of the biggest and toughest, meanest girls known to man. I was skinny, short and had no skills. Skills being defined as: double-dutch jumping, cussing, playing jacks and having a boyfriend.
By the end of the summer I could play jacks and cuss. The cussing, incidentally, made me a 4th grade playground star back at my fancy-schmancy elementary school the following fall.
The supposed point of the camp was to learn to swim. However, the bus was almost always broken down so we almost never got to swim. Mostly we sat around a hot, mainly concrete Baltimore City park, and in a sort of Lord of the Flies atmosphere we practiced the above listed skills.
While I didn't really learn swimming I did learn how to not get beaten up. I learned how to fly under the radar without crossing the line into toadyism. I learned how to be nice to everyone, while always watching my back. I learned to eat the good part of my lunch before someone could take it.
I was perpetually scared. It was exhausting. I think my mom thought "swimming" really wore me out.
At the end of the summer imagine my surprise when I was awarded a trophy- a trophy that my husband found in a box and put up ontop of my kitchen cabinets to see how long it would take before I noticed it- a trophy for being the "nicest" girl of the summer.
It's the only trophy from childhood that I still have. It's the only trophy I truly sweated for:
.
For some reason that I still do not fathom, my parents, - who in every other way loved me- chose one summer to put me in a day camp full of the biggest and toughest, meanest girls known to man. I was skinny, short and had no skills. Skills being defined as: double-dutch jumping, cussing, playing jacks and having a boyfriend.
By the end of the summer I could play jacks and cuss. The cussing, incidentally, made me a 4th grade playground star back at my fancy-schmancy elementary school the following fall.
The supposed point of the camp was to learn to swim. However, the bus was almost always broken down so we almost never got to swim. Mostly we sat around a hot, mainly concrete Baltimore City park, and in a sort of Lord of the Flies atmosphere we practiced the above listed skills.
While I didn't really learn swimming I did learn how to not get beaten up. I learned how to fly under the radar without crossing the line into toadyism. I learned how to be nice to everyone, while always watching my back. I learned to eat the good part of my lunch before someone could take it.
I was perpetually scared. It was exhausting. I think my mom thought "swimming" really wore me out.
At the end of the summer imagine my surprise when I was awarded a trophy- a trophy that my husband found in a box and put up ontop of my kitchen cabinets to see how long it would take before I noticed it- a trophy for being the "nicest" girl of the summer.
It's the only trophy from childhood that I still have. It's the only trophy I truly sweated for:
Susan, Queen of the Park
Sometimes nice girls do win... or at least stay alive.
.
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1 comment:
why do I love this?
Remind me to call you Susan, Queen of the Park from now on.
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