Champy

Part One

I look over at my wife while she's preparing our son a bagged lunch; she slices him a gala apple carefully and precisely, and organizes it in a Tupperware next to a slab of peanut butter. It's Champ Day in Port Henry, New York, and we're going to watch the parade. The food is expensive when you buy it there. I've lived in this tiny village my entire life, but I want bigger and better things for my son. I know he's still young, but that's when boys have a curiosity that will never be extinguished. He doesn't know what it's like to have neighbors within a ten second walk from his front door. I feel that could be why he's kind of introverted. I know he's smart enough to go places, though. He reminds me of my brother Freddy.

I would rather inspire him with thoughts of a real career and moving to a city somewhere than with the thoughts of lake monsters, like most people here. I've been going to the parade ever since I was a kid, so it's lost its spark for me. When you live on Lake Champlain, though, it's difficult to keep your family away from annual celebrations which are considered a big deal. Champy is an obsession in this town, a hero of sorts. Not to me. Others will tell you differently, but Champy is a monster, and I know it.

I was Eighteen years old when I was officially introduced to Champy. I remember it as if it had happened a few hours ago, despite the fact that ten years that have passed since then.