I'll Be Zorro, Thanks

At 11, I was going to be Zorro when I grew up, and I was serious about it. There had been a distinct setback to that dream when I had to get glasses (how do you wear a mask with glasses?) but I had rallied and decided I could wear them over it.

My cousin more or less shared this dream with me, and the fact that we were both girls who had dolls didn't deter either of us. We were going to be female Zorros. Perfect. We had slowly accumulated disguise pieces (costumes--please, no!) and while you might call it role-play or cosplay, we called it adventuring. And on perfect nights, when the full moon was bright, we went Zorro-ing.

We didn't have a horse, but we had a four-wheeler and lots of pasture around my house, and one day, we decided to execute some crime-solving plans. We started by perfecting our stunt-riding. We would drive as fast as we dared and switch drivers en route, going faster and faster with every pass. We were getting really good. But capes can be tricky, and crime-solving can be dangerous. In the middle of a maneuver, I suddenly felt my cape getting tight around my neck. I tried to tug loose, but I didn't have the leverage I needed, and at that speed, I was getting pulled over the edge and choking at the same time. With my cousin distracted and me gasping, we slammed into a fencepost, probably saving my windpipe. My cape had gotten wrapped around the back tire. We should have stopped there for the day, but I wasn't hurt. Besides, Zorro was going to get hurt every once in a while. We stashed our costumes in a safe place (we couldn't let family see us in them, even though our moms had made pieces for us) and waited for dark.

Under a high summer moon, we headed off down the creek and through the pasture on our faithful steed, Polaris. We had a date with destiny under a natural, creek-fed arbor of willows. We had brought a camera with us to document our adventures, and my glasses, perched perilously over my mask, made me look distinctly less Zorro-ish. I put them on the back of my hat for safe-keeping. Events of earlier in the day should have been warning enough. We fought invisible bad guys, took pictures of it, and generally had a grand old time until I remembered my glasses. I reached back--and they weren't there. Suddenly, Zorro was worried about what Dad would say.

After hunting for what felt like forever and becoming increasingly panicky, my cousin and I decided to head back for help. We hopped on the four-wheeler (remember, I'm blind, now) and I drove. I decided to cross the creek in a different place--and promptly got us stuck. Now we were two woebegone Zorros with a stuck horse. I couldn't go back to the house and admit that I'd lost my glasses and gotten the fourwheeler stuck. We tried everything we could think of, but a 10 and 11 year old don't have a lot of vehicle extraction experience. Finally, my cousin suggested we lift it out. Insane. It was bigger than we were! But we were Zorros, doggone it! We lifted--easy-peasy. (That's kinda the point of a four-wheeler.) At least all we had to contend with now, was mud.

At home, I nervously told my dad what had happened to my glasses. He laughed. Laughed. (The shame...) Then he marched right out to the spot we told him, and found my glasses.

Neither one of us grew up to be Zorro, (though I guess you'll never really know for sure, will you?) but it's a fair miracle that we survived the aspirations.