Pirate

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• March 14, 2016

A month ago, I went to Florida to visit my parents, sister and nephew, and we met with my Aunt and Uncle to go to Magic Kingdom in Disney World.  It was my nephew’s first trip there, but he’s a bit young, so the adults enjoyed the day more than the babes.

Myself, my nephew, my sister.

My favorite ride, always has been, always will be, Pirates of the Caribbean.  Since I was a kid, I lived for the summers.  My whole family lived for beach, our little boat, and running amuck in the dunes, and riding waves.  My brother and I especially viewed ourselves as pirates from a young age.  Not that we were thieves, but we were a bit reckless, seeking thrills, the more dangerous, the more appealing.

During my trip south, my Dad recalled the many times he thought we were going to kill ourselves.  We used to have a dingy*, and so did our friends the Winter boys.  We used to play chicken with them in the Great South Bay, going full speed for one another, on this little inflatable boat, then laughing at the last minute when we turned away.  We were also constantly climbing things.  We loved climbing roof tops, and trees, or anything, really, that could be climbed.  In retrospect, my Dad laughed and called us morons, but he said we damn near gave him a heart attack many times.

*Much like this one seen here:

There were other times, too, that my parents didn’t even know about, where we almost killed ourselves.  My brother had a long board (skateboard), and we used to ride on it tandem.  I’d sit in the front, and we’d go around the neighborhood, going down hills and such.  Once, we brought the long board to our Uncle’s house, who lived in a more hilly part of Long Island than the flat south shore where we grew up.  It was summer time, and we were both wearing nothing but bathing suits.  No shoes.  In the summer we seldom wore shoes or actual clothes besides our bathing suits.  We started going down this hill that was pretty steep, and gained a lot of speed.  The wheels were sparking.  We couldn’t stop it, because we were barefoot, and the friction would shred the skin off our feet.  Alas, we were headed right into a busy highway.  We probably should have jumped off, and dealt with whatever scratches would be all over our skinny, bare bodies, but no… we went right through the highway.  We are extremely lucky we didn’t get run over by a car.  We were going way too fast for anyone to have seen us coming to stop.  It’s almost a miracle we didn’t die.

My ass got all scratched up, and was bleeding, which I hid from my Mom.  I knew we’d be in trouble if she found out.  She would have screamed at us, and she would have been right to.  Worse even, we didn’t want our mother to know how close she was to losing two of kids.

My brother Mitch was more brazen, where as I was a bit quieter.  He’s younger, but I was so small, people often thought we were twins.  In high school, when he was a freshman, and I was a junior (still the same height), he threw me into a locker, and I fell to the floor, dropping my books (it was violent, but also funny, violence and comedy tended to collide in my family).  A teacher started yelling at my brother for picking on a little girl (which hurt more than the actual fall).  To which my brother replied, “she’s my twin.”  The teacher looked at me, then back at Mitch, then he shrugged and walked away.

The “twins” when we escaped raptors that one time.

There had always been unspoken bond between my brother and I: we were adrenaline addicted, adventure seeking, stuck together, always, screw every one else (including our older sister– sorry, Lisa), pirates.  This is how we saw ourselves.  I’ve never looked at a skull and crossbones and not thought of my venturesome brother.

Of course, I was the voice of reason many times.  I broke up fights he had, kept him from getting hurt on numerous occasions, which he made up for later by saving me during bad surf more than once.  Pirates then, pirates now.  We’re not quite as reckless as we once were, but our attitude towards the world hasn’t changed much.  It’s our playground.  Don’t get in our way.

Anyways, it’s 2016, and I’m in Disney World with my family sans Mitchell, for the first time in twelve or thirteen years.  We’re waiting in line for Pirates of Caribbean, and I feel like a kid all over again.  Excited to be brought into a fictional universe I based my life on.  My Dad turns to me and goes, “you see some people walk in here, and they start walking with a little bit of a swagger, their posture changes a little bit, their shoulders sway…”

I had no idea where he was going with this.

“… And other people, just no change at all.  They can’t get into it.  I feel bad for those people.”

Oh captain, my captain!  The original pirate, who raised foolhardy kids.  In that moment, I was so happy to be there with my family, thrilled to be a Palminteri, and stoked to be a Pirate.