What is it about pirates that intrigue me -- and a whole lot of other people, too? Their bad-boy, devil-may-care, dare you to stop me mentality? Probably -- especially since they're rather mythical to we contempory folks -- not just common criminals. At least in stories about pirates, they're very colorful characters -- feathers in their big hats, eye patches, parrots on their shoulders, and the requisite peg leg. Right? And they are dangerous! Are they underdogs? Is that why we root for them? Certainly they weren't much like Captain Jack Sparrow in reality ...
As one of four daughters, I didn't have much exposure to pirate stories -- especially primarily living in the north and rather inland. Pirates weren't big up there, at least to MY knowledge. Had I been a boy or had a brother, maybe I would know differently. Now make no mistake -- my parents brought us up thumbing their noses at the nature vs. nurture debate. We learned to shoot guns -- both rifles and shotguns, targeting non-living clay pigeons and targets (my dad was a "hunter" who really just enjoyed the comaraderie of the huntin' lodge with pals and the smell of gun oil). We did our fair share of the dishes, learned to bake and sew -- but also crawled countless times underneath extensive train platforms to wire the Lionel track -- and I even received a toolbox for Christmas when I was ten. But I'm still pretty girly, as are my sisters. Still, no pirates.
I was really first exposed to the concept of pirates in high school chorus when we sang the "Song of the Jolly Roger" with Mr. Frank. That was fun. Then, when my son became a pre-schooler, we received book club flyers featuring plenty of kiddy books about pirates. He was even a pirate for Halloween. He had a striped shirt that was perfect for the costume. We made a little eye patch, tied a bandana around his head -- got him a gold earring -- rolled up his jeans and slapped on his baby birks (I was clever, but a peg leg? How to accomplish that eluded me -- and tot-sized swashbucklin' boots were not readily available). Then, as he grew older and began to be quite the reader, he chose books on pirates. There were those neato books that had antiqued treasure maps and little jolly rogers in their pockets -- along with cool pieces of silver or gold. Interactive books -- very cool. Pirates are cool.
I think I like it because it's a little edgy for me. It's unexpected. I hate to be predictable and I think that I often am. Years ago when the internet was relatively new for the mom types, a little online quiz went around: The Prude Quiz. I scored embarrassingly high on it. I do have a friend who scored higher! (I don't think she's ever smoked a cigarette.) I am not a goody-two-shoes -- well not anymore. I probably started out that way. I never sought ways to NOT be a goody goody -- I just evolved naturally. I could have gotten really reckless when my mother died, but I think the worst thing I did was smoke cigarettes with my grandmother. Naughty Naughty. Still, I would wager some of you reading this are a little shocked. (Of course some of you are not ... :-)
Perhaps the most surprising thing I ever did was date (and subsequently marry) David -- and bring him home to Dad. David was a sophomore; I was a senior. He was edgy (with some blue blazer in there); I was preppy (with a few punk rock'isms here and there). David had grown-up in Beirut -- and knew war. Bullets had come through the windows of his family's flat. One of his past-times was collecting various shells from rooftops and the streets following firefights. He had been kidnapped and interrogated by militia. When it became unsafe for him to stay, he left Beirut and attended his last two years of high school at a very "fundamental" Christian boarding school in southern Germany, hitch-hiked all over Europe and even performed behind the then "iron curtain." This kid came to western Pennsylvania to a little Presbyterian college. He was not a "normal" American kid. He was not your everyday kind of boyfriend. But he became MY boyfriend.
I was admittedly a little nervous bringing him home to meet my father. In my head I could hear my dad referring to him as my "terrorist" boyfriend, what with his 3-day beard, shaggy curls, black leather jacket -- sporting a keffiyeh! My wonderful father didn't bat an eyelash. David felt immediately at home and welcome -- even though we were rather raucous in contrast to his very quiet family. When he asked for my hand in marriage a full year before his college graduation, I thought my dad would list the many reasons we shouldn't get married: no job, no money, no home, very young, etc. He didn't. He gave us his blessing, saying that life was too short to put happiness on hold. Wow. I later recalled that he had married quite young himself.
David was not the safe choice for a husband, but life would never be ho-hum. I knew he was "big." Right out of college he nearly got assigned to the diplomatic corps where we would have trained for three years in Tunisia then resided in the Middle East. Me. Pretty scary for a scardey-cat. Not safe! But David's "big'ness" materialized in different ways. Not unlike my dad, David grew restless easily -- got bored. He moved up through and across the ranks -- progressing from an analyst for the "government" to a trainer -- making the leap to the private sector, and eventually becoming a program manager for a large software firm. He was ambitious, very successful and was travelling extensively -- domestically and internationally. We had started our family by then and I found myself alone a lot. Then he was diagnosed and "metaphorphisized." In a very short span of time he went from young upwardly-mobile professional to jeans-wearing, guitar-toting, hope-sharing, cancer survivor performing songwriter. Few can make a living doing that. He did.
Living with brain cancer and the ebbs and flows of his performance schedule was no life for the feint-hearted. No easy-street. When you have to fight so hard to keep your head above water, you tend to get a little more daring. Risks become everyday events. Life with David was dangerous. But living without him has left a great void. My life is a little flat -- a little static. The disease is truly horrible. It can ultimately rob one of their intellect, their personality, their ability to speak or walk -- the sanctity of their emotions and relationships ... so, admittedly, after the brain cancer adventure came to a conclusion, a little "boredom" was a welcome thing. But life without David's spirit is a lonely life. The further-out I get from his dying, the more I remember and celebrate our living -- our great love affair -- the excitement we experienced upon a reunion after a long separation or just a day separated by our respective jobs -- and our dreams for our children. My life with David was exciting -- full of life and passion and, yes, riddled with loss, sorrow, fear, some danger and deep grief. So who wouldn't go a little rogue?
Pirate-y? me? No, I'm no plunderer.
A harmless rapscallion? Yeh, that's more like it.
So, Up with the Jolly Roger!
Living is, after all, a dangerous activity.
And face it! Pirates are cool.
... and I like to keep you guessing.
A harmless rapscallion? Yeh, that's more like it.
So, Up with the Jolly Roger!
Living is, after all, a dangerous activity.
And face it! Pirates are cool.
... and I like to keep you guessing.
:) I think it's all simply your "inner Tri-Sig"! ;)
ReplyDeleteWe've had the skull and crossbones all along. . .
<3 - -Love, Fuller