"He'll have such a girlish complex when he grows up," the camp counselor said matter-of-factly. At 5'8", with a short-cropped, bull-dyke hair cut, her pronouncement seemed rather ominous. The other counselor nodded and grunted agreement. He couldn't' have been older than 21 and was tall, with a lanky build. She, was clearly in charge. The lesbians always are. After all, this was summer camp.
Girlish complex, I thought. Because I'm crying, or because I can't roller skate? [Now I ask myself, was it both? Complex thought wasn't available then.] The thoughts were only fleeting. I was more preoccupied with the baseball-sized bruise that had formed on my left thigh, and the throbbing pain in my ankle. I had fallen at the skating rink, and I couldn't get up. "Buck up guy," Lanky said. "Yeah, don't you want to get back out there with your friends?" Bull Dyke urged. Friends? I was about 12 years old, at day camp, and I had circled the rink alone for the 45th time. Didn't she have a clue? Obviously not about a lot of things.
The bruises healed. All of them. Once in a while I still hear Bull Dyke's voice in my head and think, "hmmm, takes one to know one." I wonder how she's doing.
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