PTRD

I have a love hate relationship with history. It is actually an insanely interesting subject and I kind of like learning about it. But thanks to my dad and his Civil War Reenactment Venture Crew I suffer from what me and my siblings jokingly call Post Traumatic Reenactment Disorder (PTRD). Unlike me, my siblings can still bring themselves to take, participate in, and enjoy an actual history class. They however didn't spend two and a half years in Venture Crew 1861 so named after the year the American Civil War started. The American part's important because other countries have had civil wars as well (and that is precisely what participating in a Civil War Reenactment Venture Crew does to you).

Now a Venture Crew for all you people who haven't heard me rant about it, is a part of the Boy Scouts organization.  It's for youth ages 14-21 and is for both boys and girls. There are of course guidelines to joining a crew despite that. You have to believe in a God, oh and you can't be gay. Those are the actual requirement. On top of that to join Venture Crew 1861 specifically you need to willingly dress up like someone from the Civil War.

I originally joined the Venture Crew because they needed members to get it going and my dad said I could leave once they found some. My willingness to try new things has bitten me in the ass more times than I can count, but never more so than when I said to myself "you know it could actually be fun." ("It was a trap!")

In my entire existence on earth I have never experienced a more homophobic, sexist, or close minded atmosphere than that of the Venture Crew. And few people have warranted my wanting to punch them in the dick more than the leader who from this point on due to a lack of better description will be referred to as Sexist Dick of a Douche Bag Pig. In the two and a half years I spent in that Venture Crew I heard everything from, "we don't let gay people in because we don't want any woman being like 'I'm a man.'" (They had me cross dressing as a male soldier) to "Don't any woman in the house cook?" (When my dad made stew for everyone to eat at a drilling session) to "We don't let atheists in because they try to get inside your mind to convert you to their ways. It's the same for gay people." As a gay atheist woman I am highly offended.

I thought it might have just been our specific Venture Crew, so I was excited to actually intermingle with other Venture Crews even if it was at some leadership seminar. When I heard someone say "Girl Scouts is more like I'm trying to be mom," when the people in charge asked if they should try offering The Eagle Scout option to Girl Scouts, I started to argue. Then I was promptly ignored and they moved on deciding that Girl Scouts could do with out Eagle Scouts. Girl Scouts have the Gold Award, they don't need to be Eagle Scouts and Gold is a hell of a lot more fancy than a bird. Birds are gross critters that shit on your car, so bite my flat ass Boy Scouts. In the nine years that I was a Girl Scout, I had never heard a single sexist, homophobic, or even rude comment about religion (or lack there of) from anyone adult leader. In two years of a Venture Crew I had heard more of those comments than everywhere else combined.

On top of all that crap there was the meetings. They are supposed to laugh a little over an hour where you discuss upcoming events, what needs to be done, and maybe play a game or two. These were like time warps from hell. They happened every other Wednesday night. They started at six at night and ended at ten because SDDBP would not shut up. That is four hours of my life every other week for a year until it was decided to give the meeting a cap at nine thirty at night. Then for another year and a half it was three and a half hours every other week. While normally I'd do the math to see how much of my life was wasted, in this case I really don't want to know.

During these meetings I mastered the art of entertaining oneself when you can't actually move around. There are pages upon pages of notebooks that I doodled in. At one meeting we were supposed to learn how to cut five pointed stars out of paper by folding it and cutting. I was the only one who could figured it out and by the end of the night was buried in paper stars. I would click my pen so much it would actually catch SDDBP's attention something that is highly impressive and hard to do when he's busy talking. I learned how to roll cartridges (basically it's a paper packet that contains everything needed to load your musket) so freaking well and so quickly we never ended up using them all. It was basically a never ending void that sucked any free time out of my life. I didn't even have the option not to go. There was a night when I had to write a adaptation of Romeo & Juliet for my English class. I procrastinated on it because I thought that could get me out of the meeting. Nope. I had to take my sister's laptop with me to do so which basically resulted in my just getting lectured for bringing technology the entire time.

That was just all the prep work for being in the Venture Crew. The actual reenacting was insanely different. I have met a lot and I
I mean a lot of reenactors. Most of them are actually incredibly nice people and in general I have nothing against reenactors  On top of that most of them are middle aged men. I always find it hilarious when a group of them take a photo in period accurate clothing and go on and on about how authentic it looks. The average age of a Civil War soldier was seventeen and they were generally living off of squirrels and hard tack (basically a dry teeth breaking cracker). If you ever need to know the difference between an authentic photo and a reenactment one look for the well fed people with wrinkles (photo quality usually gives it away before this point though).

The worst part of being a reenactor is that you don't usually participate in a battle. Most of the events are nothing more than setting up a historically accurate campsite (seriously, it's not even worth the lecture to bring in something newer than 1865), wearing about three layers of wool clothing, and then sitting in the boiling sun explaining to every poor kid that got drug to a reenactment on The Fourth of July what the hell was kept in the average ruck sack. Then if you are not trying to convince small children to break their teeth on hard tack out of sheer boredom you are forced to drill. Drilling is absolutely the worst thing ever that you can do when wearing three layers of wool in July. SDDBP was a really big fan of drilling only because he was the one that got to bark orders at us while standing watching. If you have ever participated in marching band it is ten times worse than that. It was just us standing straight up wearing at least ten pounds of accoutrements (all the shit a soldier had to carry) and rhythmically changing the way that we held our muskets on demand. When we first started learning drills I actually liked it because it was actually pretty interesting and fun. Then we kept doing it and doing it and doing it until two years in when I was very much willing to use that damn musket as club to bash the brains out of SDDBP. (Loading it would have taken too long.)

I mentioned a million times that drilling sucked ass (in the much more polite term of "I hate it!"). No one listened to a word I said. My dad told me that actual soldiers hated it too. Well, see dad they were in actual war. We're teenagers you suckered into joining because it's supposed to be fun. The only person who listened to what I had to say was the wife of SDDBP. She was a super cool lady and I have the utmost respect for her. She tried to tell him that we needed to cut down on drilling and he brushed it asside without giving it any actual thought. I still remember when it got brought up as we ate dinner at Super Salad of all places. He said that his wife had mentioned that we do too much drilling then he turned to me to ask my opinion then turned away before I even answered continuing on about how we totally don't. Venture Crew 1861 was a dictatorship which I was more than willing to flee at any moment.

It actually got to a point of hatred where I was hoping for injuries so I could get out of reenactments. My perpetually messed up jaw came about when I got knocked over in gym class. That morning I was dreading the drilling scheduled for the next day and said to myself optimistically (and only half joking) "I have gym today. Maybe I'll get injured and wont have to drill tomorrow." I got my wish and after X-rays, lots of ice, and trying to eat really chunky soup, I didn't have to drill but instead had to listen SDDBP make comments about the women in the house not doing anything while I couldn't move my jaw or say anything in response.

By the time we actually got to the point of going to an actual reenactment battle I was so jaded, I couldn't have enjoyed it even if I would have earlier. The thing about reenacting a battle is that you die whenever you feel like dieing. This for most people is when their gun starts to burn their hand from firing black powder and the heat of the sun. Then after the battle has progressed you get back up and join the back of the allied formation. For me, I was the first to die then I faked having twisted my knee so I could just sit and play with one of the reenactor's kids for the rest of the weekend. (It's amazing how interesting pick up sticks can be.) It would have seriously been far more fun if it didn't all take place in the middle of summer in Santa Fe, New Mexico, if I wasn't wearing three layers of wool and if I didn't have to be authentic by wearing ten pounds of crap I didn't need like my mess kit. Seriously why does every reenactment take place in the dead of summer? Is it some experiment to see who is the best at fighting off heat stroke?

The worst part though was the car ride back. It was a really long car ride packed into a minivan with my dad, SDDBP, his wife, the brother of one of my friends which for some reason willingly joined, and the other teen reenactor who looked freakishly like Michael Cera. About three hours before we reached Colorado Springs, SDDBP started going off on a homophobic tangent. Gays can't join because they try to convert you. "We don't want any women that are like 'I'm a man's or any men that are like 'I'm a woman.'" I didn't say anything because as a fifteen year old three hours of getting yelled at in a confined space doesn't sound fun and after that I'd still have another hour with just my dad in our car as we headed the rest of the way home to the middle of nowhere. I must have looked pretty sick though because SDDBP's wife said, "if you have any questions, Sarah, just ask your dad later." To which I replied through gritted teeth "I understand perfectly fine."

That was the moment when I was officially done with the Venture Crew. I pretty much begged my parents to let me quit. I told them I don't know how many times that I hated it. I dragged my feet before every event and meeting until eventually I just straight up refused to go. It's amazing how long I put up with it before this point though to be honest. Much longer and you might have heard about the chick that went ballistic and murdered her Venture Crew with a musket.

The Venture Crew was marching in the Veteran's Day Parade. I was not willing to march an ungodly distance wearing shoes that were two sizes too big and in a design that has been obsolete for over a hundred years, for something I don't give the slightest shit about. I would not go and my parents could not make me. It was one of the more spectacular blow ups me and my dad have had and resulted in me being grounded. When I couldn't go to something for a friend my mom asked me quite snarkily if it was worth it which I replied with a quite snarky absolutely. (If anyone questions our relation you are not paying much attention.)

After all of that I quite certainly have PTRD. I have noticed that television shows like to make throw away jokes about reenactors. I can't actually sit through such a joke without freaking out. In an episode of Wizards of Waverly Place the parents come down stairs dressed in reenactment garb talking about going to a Civil War reenactment. I had flashbacks. In my world that would mean that I'd  have to put on a uniform and join in. After that initial freak out, I then realized that the outfits weren't accurate which would get them shunned and that there are no scheduled first deaths at a reenactment as they stated. You truly have no idea how much I hate the fact that I know this. Today I was watching Being Human and Aiden who is an undead vamp guy from the Revolutionary War gets really excited by this chick he meets who likes that era of history and makes a joke about reenacting that era. (It would have been hilarious to me in another world.) While a throw away joke it was enough to seriously kick my ass into flashback mode. Even though the Venture Crew wasn't Revolutionary War my dad does that era of reenactment as well. There is a family Christmas card somewhere where me and my siblings are dressed up from the time period and are about half prepared to kill each other. I also very distinctly remember a rant I received from my father when I said, "I don't care." He took it as I didnt care about the Revolutionary War (which I kind of don't), but at the time I meant I didn't care about the SAR, Son's of the American Revolution, a reenactment group specific only to people who's family's fought in the Revolutionary War.

For the rest of my life I will always have a mini freak out at any sign of reenacting. I will always know useless fact about Civil War soldier uniforms, weapons, and pay wages. I will forever know that the United States doesn't count a musket as a firearm unless it's used in a crime (because seriously it is that useless). And right now, I will admit, that if forced to reenact again (it would have to be at the  gunpoint of a cannon) I would go for the hoop skirt and corset.