Pictures of You: Susan Henderson

“Patrol Camp,” by Susan Henderson

I carry a very particular picture of myself in my head, the identity that stuck, or perhaps the identity that feels most true. Someone will tell me I’m pretty or sweet, and I’ll look in the mirror and see this kid:

This is me having a big old time at patrol camp. This is back in the days when my dad still cut my hair on the kitchen stool, and obviously I did not bother to dry my hair for the photo. Maybe you can tell by the Billy Idol sneer how I take to dressing up in paper headbands and feathers.

I went to patrol camp the summer before sixth grade to become “an officer.” This selection means I was misunderstood to be a child who would not light her patrol post on fire or try to send the kids across the street when they were most likely to get run over.

In the mornings at camp, the girls stood near the flagpole outside of our cabins to do exercises. All the exercises had accompanying chants, and the one I did with great seriousness was the “we must increase our bust” exercise, when we all stood with our arms like chicken wings and tried to touch our elbows behind our backs. “The bigger, the better, the tighter the sweater, the boys depend on us.”

When you look at least four years younger than your classmates and people mistake you for being a boy, camp is just one more place to feel different and alone.

By the end of my week there, it seemed camp had improved some. I’d kissed and slow-danced with one of the camp counselors, and was glad to finally be noticed and included. Okay, sure, this sounds like pedophilia now, but I didn’t know better at the time and spent the rest of the summer searching for his phone number so I could hear his voice and then hang up.

The great thing about the writing community is it’s made up of all kinds of shy and moody weirdos, people who didn’t know how to have fun at a party, who watched and absorbed everything but just stored it away. So here’s a shout-out to all those with books and awards and teaching gigs who still feel like they’re wearing a paper headband with a red feather in it. Those are my people.

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Susan Henderson is a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee and the recipient of an Academy of American Poets award. Her debut novel, UP FROM THE BLUE, has been praised by NPR, the New York Times, and Rosie O’Donnell, among others. Her husband is a costume designer, filmmaker, and Chair of a university drama department. They have two teenagers–one in high school and another studying computer science and physics at M.I.T. Visit her at: http://www.litpark.com/