I'm going to be honest with you, I've been thinking a lot more about hurricane stuff this week than writing. Because of this, I'm going to try something new and tell you a story.
In 5th grade, most kids in my town were a part of day camp. It was a fun place to hang out with friends, play games, and luckily, it was at the park right next to my house.
The most important part of day camp was always the "Day-Camp Olympics" that occurred over the last two weeks of the summer. For me, the most important events were basketball and track. I was on the red team and we were stacked for most sports. After a dominating performance on the court the Friday of the first week, I got very sick that weekend.
I woke up the Monday of track and field and still had a very high fever and a stomach bug. We called into the camp and told them I wouldn't make it. I started to get calls back from my friends telling me to come anyway. Finally, while my mom was at Wegmans, my friend Sherman called me and convinced me to get to the race because Eli was going to have to run the last leg. Eli is a great kid, but he is slower than molasses. I needed to sneak out.
I figured I had just enough time to pull this off so I left the house and walked up the hill to where the race would be. People were confused as to how I was up there and frankly, so was I. My temperature was hotter than Satan's armpit, and I felt like blowing chunks at any second, but that didn't matter. I assumed my position as the anchor for the relay. It was winning time.
I got the baton in a decent position and dashed my way to the front to secure victory, but the race didn't stop there. As my teammates applauded, I dropped the baton and continued to run down the hill, back home. I got to the driveway and saw no Volvo. I was safe.
I proceeded to take a shower, lay on the ground in pain, and bask in the glory of victory. By the time my mom got home, I was on the couch, and she was none the wiser. I got more sick from there, but I didn't care because this was the "Michael Jordan flu game" of the Day-Camp Olympics.
I kept this story close to the chest for many years before finally coming clean at Thanksgiving a few years ago. My family was baffled but they couldn't ground me at that point. It came up whether I cared that my mom was out getting food to make me feel better while I was sneaking out. The answer is yes, but that's the moral cost of glory. "Heroes get remembered, but legends never die."