(c) 2008, Timothy P. Bete and Cap'n Billy "The Butcher" MacDougall
Baby Pirate (looking quite buff) just after being transformed from a long-forgotten doll.
Baby Pirate perched in the crow's nest of his ship. Ahoy matey!
Ahoy, matey! It’s Baby Pirate
by Tim Bete
While I was on vacation at my parents’ house at the shore, we did the typical vacationy things. We went to the beach, got too much sun, ate seafood, and built a fully-functioning pirate ship in the garage.
My brother-in-law, Elliott, crafted a three-foot-long galleon built entirely from driftwood. It was a sturdy vessel, complete with a sheet -- decorated with skull and crossbones -- for a sail.
Elliott launched the pirate ship and we watched through binoculars as it sailed for a quarter mile before marooning itself on an island. Elliott’s only lament was that he forgot to sign his work of art.
I’ve always been a great supporter of the arts, so I encouraged Elliott to build another ship. “And, this time,” I added, “put an e-mail address on it, so whoever finds it can contact you.”
“What e-mail address should we use?” he asked. That’s when I had my brainstorm.
I rushed into the house and found a small plastic doll that no one had played with in years. The doll was naked and all its hair had fallen out. I quickly fashioned a black eyepatch out of electrical tape and whittled a wooden peg leg. Baby Pirate was born. Elliott was ecstatic. I think I saw a tear of joy come to his eye.
“Paint the e-mail address ScurvyDog@BabyPirate.com on the boat,” I commanded.
“Are you sure the doll is a baby?” Elliott asked.
“Question me again and I’ll throw you in the brig!” I barked.
“Aye, aye, captain!” Elliott bellowed, while saluting.
We gave Baby Pirate a ration of Shipyard Ale, and stuck him in the crow’s nest I fashioned out of the bottom of a plastic water bottle. We were ready for our infant buccaneer to begin his life of plundering merchant ships, but it was an adventure that wasn’t meant to be.
As we marched to the ocean, singing our favorite sea shanty, “Blow the Man Down,” Elliott’s five-year-old daughter saw us with the doll. It was then my suspicion the doll was a baby was confirmed.
Baby Pirate enjoying a carbonated malt-beverage from The Shipyard Brewery.
“What are you doing with MY BABY!” she screamed.
“See, I told you it was a baby,” I told Elliott. Before we knew it, Baby Pirate was shanghaied and our pirate ship lay unmanned. Or, to be more accurate, “unbabied.”
Baby Pirate is now recuperating far from the smell of salt air. I’ve been informed that Baby Pirate is really a girl, although I tried to argue he is a small pirate trapped in a girl doll’s body. No one would listen. Baby Pirate has new red yarn hair. Reconstructive surgery involving super glue replaced his peg leg. In the fall, Baby Pirate will go to kindergarten for Show and Tell. I can only hope it’s a pirate kindergarten where students are taught to count pieces-of-eight and call the teacher a “scurvy seadog.”
Because our ship was never launched, I have big plans for next summer. I bought a box of plastic toys at a garage sale and have been busy making eyepatches and peg legs for Barney, Snow White and a half dozen Smurfs. Baby Pirate is destined to escape and, when he does, he’ll need a crew.
Get-well wishes can be sent to Baby Pirate at ScurvyDog@BabyPirate.com
Update!
I received an e-mail today that made me so proud of Baby Pirate. Now, I know the pirate values I raised him with are guiding his every move. Even without his eyepatch and ship, he is living the pirate life. The e-mail is from Elliott's daughter's other dolls.
Dear Baby Pirate,
I know that you are living in my house, so I shouldn't have to e-mail you, but it has been so hard to talk to you lately. I thought that maybe you could hear this better in a letter. We have some ground rules in this house and you have to follow them if you want to be part of this crew...I mean family.
First, you must stop pillaging the doll clothes. You have your own clothing now; there is no need to steal from others.
Second, you must stop eating the cat food. You have your rations and they have theirs.
Third, I know who commandeered the missing bath tub boat.
Finally, and I know this may be hard to hear, but there is no buried treasure in the yard. It is the voles who keep disturbing the soil, not other pirates hiding their booty.
I hope you are able to hear this, put behind your scoundrel ways, and live peaceably among us.
Sincerely,
Raggedy Anne and company
Baby Pirate gets a job
by Tim Bete
A friend recently sent me a job posting for the head of a shipbuilding school. He had Baby Pirate in mind for the job, so I sent this message to the executive search firm:
Dear sirs:
I would be interested in running your shipbuilding school. I'm a pirate, so I'm qualified.
My only salary requirements are four rations of rum per day and a crew I can use on the weekends to plunder other vessels.
Sincerely,
Baby Pirate
A few hours later I got a response.
“This is fun! Don't know if you are serious or just enjoying a good joke. If serious, please let me know by sending your resume.” A job description was attached.
I reviewed the job description and requirements on Baby Pirate’s behalf, checking off his qualifications as I went.
“Love of boats.” Check.
“Work closely with the Board.” Hmmm. Baby Pirate calls it a plank, not a board. Check.
“Serve as principal spokesperson to all outside constituents.” Check. Baby Pirate doesn’t allow anyone else speak for him or his ship. The last crew member who spoke out of turn found himself in Davy Jones' Locker.
“Guide the school community in holding a shared vision of the future of the marine trades industry.” Check. Baby Pirate often tells me his dream for the marine trades industry. His vision is to plunder every ship on the high seas and retire in Las Vegas at the Treasure Island Hotel and Casino. Baby Pirate loves a good buffet followed by a Wayne Newton concert.
“Ensure the safety of all students and employees.” I’ll advise Baby Pirate to institute a policy of no more than three rations of rum per sailor before noon. Check.
“Oversee marketing and enrollment management.” Check. Baby Pirate is a master of persuasion. He’s been able to convince dozens of crew members to join him using nothing more than a smile and his sword.
“Oversee management of all fiscal resources.” Check. Unfortunately, Baby Pirate will never tell anyone where he’s buried the fiscal resources.
“Foster an environment of excellence in teaching and professional development.” Baby Pirate started as a cabin boy and worked his way up. He learned much of what he knows, such as his aversion for bathing, from Dirty Tom Kidd -- the pirate everyone wants to throw in the ocean. Check.
“Achieve national recognition and awareness.” Check. Baby Pirate is already a legend.
It appeared Baby Pirate would be a shoe-in for the job. He’s great in an interview, too…at least when he’s sober.
But I’m not sure Baby Pirate is ready to settle into a management position. I think he’d be better off working for an aggressive investment bank. Baby Pirate’s real expertise has always been as a corporate raider in hostile takeovers.
Baby Pirate was the inspiration for the book, Pirate Parenting
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