The Captains Log

Arrgh Matey! Me Pirate blood boils with anticipation of buryin’ me next chest of treasure, says I! Ha! I was thinking of the time that I surprised my oldest daughter when she was six years old by burying a treasure chest filled with silver coins out in the sand when she spent the night out on The Moon. I made an old, secret looking map, got out all of my sea charts, and we sneaked up the dock and went over to the beach with our shovels and flashlights.

I told her tales of my “Old piratin’ days when I sailed to far off islands filled with mermaids. My scalawag of a first mate, Long John Toothpick, (who was so named because his ill made wooden legs were always carved too thin and would snap in half at least five times a day), stole my treasure during an especially fearsome battle with the British Royal Navy and buried it in an unknown location.

Emily’s eyes were round as pie tins as she listened to the tale, and her hands shook with anticipation of finding the location of the stolen booty. She knew she could discover its whereabouts because she had dubbed herself a “Pirate Princess” and they “Always know just where to dig!” We roamed around the starlit beach for a few minutes, scanning the map eagerly, and finally determined exactly where the “X” was on the map. I lightly dusted the sand with my foot, squinted a little, and stood for a moment, appraising the situation. “Yes,” I declared, “this looks like just the kind of spot that Long John would choose.”

Emily didn’t need a second opinion. She grabbed her little green shovel and went to town. I swear it was like watching a pint-sized backhoe operating under full diesel power! In a couple of minutes she hit the wooden top of the chest. You should have seen her face light up when she unearthed it and pried open its glittering contents! She kept dancing around in the sand, her eyes sparkling with delight yelling “I’m rich, I’m rich!”