“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. Continue reading →