I: Absentia
I
was in the car driving to the home of a family that I’m very close to, or
rather, used to be close to. They are
comprised of thirty-something heterosexual parents of above average
intelligence and cultural open-mindedness, a theatrical pre-teen girl and a friendly,
flamboyant six-year old boy. I have been
babysitting for them for nearly five years. I love them.
Although I had made the slow rush hour journey teems of times before,
today was different. The first swipes of
a strong hurricane were lashing out above the townspeople’s heads, turning rush
hour into an overextended muscle of time.
So much rain, everywhere you looked, that the entire place looked like a
submerged post-apocalyptic strip mall. My
spirits were sunny as I mentally prepared for the night’s interactions. It had been ten months since I last babysat
for this family. I hadn’t thought too
hard about the implications until then—a defense mechanism I use to prevent
myself from bursting the fuse box of my synapse system. What would the kids be like? A year is a long time in childhood. But isn’t it also in adulthood? Oh god, I’m an adult now…
Listen to the rain
to re-focus, climb out of the wormhole. Was
my summer working with children going to make a difference in my fun with these
kids? What if the new presence of so
much unshaved body hair would make them outwardly uncomfortable? Was this whole shindig about to be hideously
awkward?
Breathe and exhale
the wormhole out of me. Don’t eat the
worm. Doesn’t someone say something like
that? These little anxieties wouldn’t
eat me alive. They were to be released,
let go to burn their wings near the sun.
I would stay grounded.
Upon my arrival in
the downpour, I was greeted at the door with squeals of delight, screams of my
name echoing in the small house, and full-body hugs. I had the girl suspended in my right arm, the
boy in my left. We embraced until our
bodies hurt. The parents, always
gracious and amicable, exchanged greetings with me and soon left to begin their
adventure, a yoga class with friends followed by a glass of wine somewhere with
mood lighting. They joked loudly about
their tomorrow plans to go to the beach, hurricane or not.
I had a fantastic
time with these kids. I found them to be
silly, interesting, a little bizarre, and a welcome dose of fun. Example: they began with, “Have you ever
heard of Harry Potter?” Um…yes. They then blindfolded me, sat me in the
wonderful massage chair they’ve had for a few years, and filmed what ended up
being a blind taste test of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Most disgusting? Earthworm/Earwax. Most surprisingly tasty? Grass. And they were far more concerned with my shorter haircut than my underarms. Go figure.
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