Five Captains

The summer of 1973 was difficult. I was too young to be 'big' and too old to be 'little.' It was hard to tell where I fit in - anywhere. As an 8 year-old, I'm sure it was hard for most to take me seriously. How could I know the things I did about how the world worked and the paths that people choose? As an intuitive observer in a fairly dysfunctional albeit completely normal family - How was it possible to escape those types of lessons?

I tried to fit - got pushed out, climbed back in only to be pushed out again. I knew the boat was overcrowded and that the destination wasn't correct. I instinctively knew there was a better way, a better route had to exist and a better vessel must be possible, but I also knew that people could be stubborn and sometimes didn't want to see - especially those too proud to learn from a little girl. Sometimes, just the energy it takes to change course or shift even the smallest degree is too much to ask let alone the flexibility to bend far enough to accommodate the ideas of a child. 

Yet somehow I knew without a doubt that the destination my family chose would be somewhere I was reluctant to go. It was too risky. The simple act of agreeing to accompany those passengers would be equivalent to letting my parents define and endanger me in a way I might not agree with. I didn't want to be made into what they expected. I wanted to be allowed to live on my own terms. I couldn't understand how they could be so completely incompetent in their parenting skills as to believe that I would turn out in a way other than fabulous with just the barest support and guidance. I didn't need any radical pruning or grafting. I had a good frame and almost ideal genetic stock. But they were doubtful and divergent in spite of their own intelligence. As a result, their total lack of confidence was projected on me causing enormous anxiety to them and a feeble attempt at resigned compliance from me. I knew better. Was I truly the only person who could see it - the blind one? Really?

There's an old saying, "When in Rome . . . do as the Romans do." Well, I didn't want to be in Rome or do as they did because it was a dangerous place for a young girl. It meant servitude, accepting violence and subsistence living.

Even at eight, I knew that it was possible to fade far enough into the background so as not to draw attention to yourself, and silently hold your own and go your own way - build your own boat in your spare time and eventually be your own captain and then travel wherever you'd like. At the same time, I hated to leave everyone I knew behind to struggle and possibly drowned. So I tried to help - by sticking with them as long as I could - as long as they'd let me and even if I had to force my way into some sort of position of authority - imagined, manipulated or usurped. I also knew that eventually I would get kicked off the boat or my renegade suggestions. And I did - around the age of 17. 

The boat had become crowded, leaky over burdened and some of the passengers had already jumped ship. Everyone on board thought he or she was the captain and they all tried to sail the ship according to their maps and views of the stars never sharing information, experience or ocean charts. We had five Captains, no Master, no Lieutenant, no Boatswain and no Gunner. Never mind Carpenters, Quartermasters or Mates.

My Dad tried tirelessly to keep the vessel seaworthy, I tried to keep the crew healthy, my brother tried to point out icebergs, my sister went in search of better, less faulty equipment and my Mother sabotaged as much of our work as she could in an effort to hold the tides still - to keep us in our places - believing that if you didn't move, it was hard to get lost. She had no faith.

What my parents didn't count on was that because they were so determined to block our every attempt to grow into ourselves as we were bound to do, instead of raising three compliant, respectful and obliging children who could would do as the Romans were doing, fit in and survive. They raised three of the most intuitive, creative, resourceful and accomplished children there ever were. Sure, we have battle scars and fish stories. But we have very distinct identities and make very few apologies for our interests and or skills which out of necessity are now vast and varied. We know we're not perfect and we understand that not everyone is cut out to be a Captain. But we certainly are and we each understand the need not to try to Captian someone else's boat.