Misty MasseyWhen I was a kid, I loved to pretend I was someone special. Yes, I know, we’re all special, but that’s not quite what I’m going for here. One summer we visited the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Back then there were a number of shipwreck ruins on the sand. I climbed onto them and played pirates, the wind whipping through my hair as I waved a stick for a sword. Another summer we traveled north from Virginia all the way to Canada, staying in a bunch of lushly wooded campgrounds along the way. My cousin and I wandered among the trees, pretending to be Robin Hood’s men and hunting for magical geodes, armed with my daddy’s hammer and two bows we’d constructed from sticks and string. (My cousin had a sliver of granite in her thumb until the day she died, from our continual rock-bashing.) When I moved [...]
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