Get Real!

One benefit to being a stay-at-home mom is being able to chaperone my children's field trips. I've been to the Cohasset art center, the Stone Zoo, the Museum of Fine Arts and Peggotty Beach. I try to volunteer whenever possible because all too soon, the field trips will end and my services will no longer be needed.

This past week my 3rd grader came home with a permission slip for an upcoming trip. Glancing through the form, I noted the date, time and cost. When my eyes came to rest on the location, my stomach dropped. The two words I dreaded most were printed at the bottom:

Plimoth Plantation.

I have nothing against Plimoth Plantation. Or Old Sturbridge Village, or the Constitution or any other historic destination. I'm glad that my children are able to learn how the Pilgrims and Native Americans lived, farmed, worked, survived and celebrated the first Thanksgiving together. I'm glad that our country has places that are preserved to illustrate what life was like hundreds of years ago. I appreciate those knowledgeable folks who share this information wholeheartedly with others.

I just can't stand to be around them.

Okay, let me amend that. I don't mind watching the smithy forge horseshoes or the milkmaid churn butter. Candle dipping is fascinating. Weaving is a skill, no wait, an art form, and one that I could never master. These folks are artisans and deserve to show off their skills. But please, in the name of all that is holy, please don't pretend that you are actually in that time period. Please don't speak as if the modern world doesn't exist. Because if you do, I’ll just hop into my twenty-first century mini-van and zoom away.

This intolerance for "role players" began in my teenage years when my parents took our family on vacation to Williamsburg, Virginia. The first day of our trip, we visited Busch Gardens (all well and good). The second day we visited Colonial Williamsburg. Within minutes I was begging my parents to take us back to Busch Gardens. In general, I could hold it together when dragged through historical museums and landmarks. But something about Colonial Williamsburg just set my teeth on edge. Perhaps it was the sheer volume of Colonists, all speaking "in character", all fully immersed in the 18th century and unwilling to acknowledge anything modern that made me want to point at a jet passing overhead and cry, "Prithee, what be that great iron bird borne aloft?"

My opinion didn't change as I got older. In my 20's, I had to keep my feelings private or risk offending a co-worker who enjoyed reenacting civil war battles. He actually wore his getup to an office costume party, complete with period glasses (sorry, spectacles.) He was a spectacle all right. I spent the entire party avoiding eye contact and darting to the opposite side of the room, lest I blurt out my true opinion.

A few years back, the Newcomers club organized a Christmas visit to Beechwood, the Astor family mansion in Newport. I looked forward to touring the house, which was decorated for the holidays, and then lunching with my friends in Mrs. Astor's private salon. As our group met in the foyer, a maid with an Irish brogue informed us that we were in for a real treat: Several members of the Astor family had arrived home for the holidays and would be chatting with us at various points along the tour. Say what? No quaintly dressed tour guide speaking from a modern point of view about the wallpaper and the window treatments? We were to be subjected to (gasp) actors pretending we had somehow become transported back to the turn of the century? I approached each room with dread, wondering which would contain a faux Astor. (Honestly, I think I would have preferred zombies.) When we bumped into John Jacob Astor the 4th, it was all I could do not to shout, "Don't get on the Titanic you fool!" He even made my friend Julianne dance with him. Thankfully, once we escaped to our luncheon a lovely woman shared tidbits about the house and family from a contemporary perspective. Although the afternoon ended on a positive note, I vowed never to be snookered like that again.

I do make exceptions though. When it comes to role-playing, I'm inclined to give a pass to places like King Richard's Faire. Perhaps it's because the whole shebang is so over the top, I consider it to be more like dinner theater (Medieval Manor anyone?) Or maybe it's because on any given day you'll see pirates, gladiators, harem girls, Braveheart-wannabes and heavy metal troubadours mixed in with the Renaissance folk. What’s not to love about that?

At a party this past weekend, I fell into conversation with a woman who had visited Plimoth Plantation. She told me how much she enjoyed listening to one of the Wampanoags speak, from a modern point of view, about his tribe's history. However, when it came to visiting the Pilgrims, she found the role-playeing to be "...kind of annoying." Ah, a kindred spirit.

Clearly we’re in the minority since more than enough parents volunteered for this particular field trip. Have fun. Call me when you need someone to chaperone at the Museum of Science.