The Eeks of the World

For five weeks 
for several summers
I attended a sleepaway camp in North Carolina,
near my grandparents' vacation home

I think it was listed as a Christian camp
There was another Jewish girl once
I sang Dear Lord Jesus 
along with everyone else
No big whoop

The archery counselor's nickname was Eek
She was an older woman
with the type of shortly curled,
pubic looking perm
that made me wonder how much worse her untreated hair could have been
She seemed to dislike me
Or at least my technique

I was a pretty good archer
not like Marinda Peters-
who could have felled a buffalo from 100 yards -
but good enough to progress through the badges
Junior Yeoman
Yeoman
A few others

Eek did a grotesque impression of my technique:
a jerking motion on an imaginary bow
How I supposedly let go the arrows

I tried the way she showed me

The arrows hit the white of the target
or black,
often the ground

I tried for a few days
Managed to get one blue
Never better than that

I went back to my way
Never missed the target
Lots of reds,
some bulleyes

A few days later
Eek imitated me again
Same angry face
Same jerking motion

My way works better
I informed her
as I reached into my quiver
Not in preparation to shoot her
but to keep doing
what got me the best results

I've also been criticized
for holding my pen like a steak knife
I've tried the normal pinchy way:
it feels weird to me

My handwriting,
a hybrid of print and cursive,
is mostly legible

I type 70 words per minute
I'm not worried about it

Over the years
I've learned to accept-
even embrace-
legitimate, constructive criticism

But the Eeks of the world
can continue to bugger off