Lessons From a Babysitter With a Restless Spirit
She was my mom’s worst nightmare, but she taught me how I wanted to parent my daughter decades later
I had my daughter in my forties after a long bout with infertility, a little help from modern medicine and a few meridian-stimulating acupuncture sessions. She is a teenager now. At 15 years old she is dealing with a lot of firsts: her first boyfriend (a very sweet teenage boy), her first time traveling into the city with her friends, her first time going on vacation without me (to Florida).
These are all experiences that eluded me until I was much older because, back in the 70s, when I became a teen, I was sheltered, fearful and naïve. I don't think my daughter could be naïve in the age of social media when everything is available, and where judgement is just as important as information.
When I became a mother, I knew I wanted my daughter to treat life as an adventure and I think she does.
I would have made a terrible mother in my 20s or 30s. In my 20s, I couldn't imagine raising a child — I was too much like one myself. I had lots of big ideas and ambition but no idea how I was going to make it happen. But when I became a mother, I knew I wanted my daughter to treat life as an adventure and I think she does.
There is a method beneath my madness. An experience I had with a babysitter when I was a young girl imprinted my soul and literally informed my view of the world, and my need to fearlessly consume it.
A Night Out
I remember when I was nine years old, I perched on a stool outside the bathroom door and watched as my mother teased up her hair into a bouffant style, taking two spit curls and winding them around metal curlers to achieve the perfect softness around her face. She then applied a perfect cat eye with liner and mascara and finished with a white lipstick that showcased her stunningly luminous complexion.
Adorned in a palazzo jumpsuit, my dad in a baby blue leisure suit, they were the perfect couple from the 70s, in our suburban enclave in Long Island, decades before suburban enclaves (and their secrets) were highlighted in the TV show "Desperate Housewives."
The babysitter's name was Michelle and it was her first time babysitting for us. She must have been around 18 years old, chafing to go off to college and see the world. I don't remember sensing frustration, but I felt a larger energy from her than I'd ever felt before. I loved that energy. I wanted to eat it up, but I didn't understand it. Years later, I understand that it was my first experience seeing someone with a big vision for her life.
Michelle was tall, with flaxen hair that went down to her waist. She wore faded, ripped jeans, boots and a denim shirt in the style of Ali MacGraw from the movie "Love Story."
Downstairs, I saw a strange sight: three teenagers were sitting on my mom's plastic-covered couch in the living room. Nobody ever sat in the living room.
My mom had ordered us a pizza, and I remember laughing at silly jokes while my sister and I wolfed down oil-slicked slices, licking our fingers to get all the flavor. I really liked this babysitter. She listened to me. It wasn't just the lip service I was used to from my constantly distracted parents. She asked me about school and what my favorite subjects were. I told her I loved English and Social Studies and hated Math and being picked last for gym teams because I wasn't athletic or popular.
After dinner, I thought we would follow the usual routine: have dessert and watch some television before we'd go to bed. She told us to get into our pajamas. While I was changing, I heard the doorbell ring. That's odd, I thought. Our parents wouldn't be back so soon. They weren't.
Downstairs, I saw a strange sight: three teenagers were sitting on my mom's plastic-covered couch in the living room. Nobody ever sat in the living room. I was speechless, which wasn't like me at all.
"Estelle, come say hi to my friends and my boyfriend," Michelle said, as the guy sitting beside her put his arm around her shoulders in a proprietary way. I forget their names but remember that they all got cozy on the couch, and then someone brought out a few beers — they must have brought them because we didn't have that at home. They also lit up cigarettes. Although they smelled kind of funny, so maybe they weren't cigarettes.
'Do You Like to Dance?'
Michelle kept her attention focused on me. "So, Estelle, do you like to dance?" she asked. "Yes, I love to dance," I said. "Great, Let's have a dance party." I turned on the radio and we did.
She was magical and whimsical, like my very own private "Cat in the Hat," my beloved book from childhood. She was different. I liked different, I realized. So, two kids and four teenagers had a dance party in the living room that my mom had never let us sit in because she wanted it clean for company.
First it was a half hour past my bedtime, then the clock ticked 11 o'clock, a full two hours past my bedtime. I didn't care. I was having the time of my life with my new friends. Then my babysitter's boyfriend brought her in close and they started slow dancing. Then they started kissing. I watched in awe. Would someone want to kiss me like that one day, running his hands through my silken, if not flaxen, hair? My sister was silent, playing with her dolls in the corner, keeping to herself.
"Hey, have you ever tried beer," he asked me. "No," I said. "Want a sip?" And that's how I had my first taste of beer.
"What's her name?" the boyfriend asked Michelle. "It's Estelle," she told him, rubbing his upper arm. "Estelle," the boyfriend said, "do your parents keep any wine around or other drinks?" "Yes," I responded, happy to be of help. "We have some bottles of wine and other stuff in the cabinet downstairs." He gave Michelle a knowing look. "Terrific."
"Hey, have you ever tried beer," he asked me. "No," I said. "Want a sip?" And that's how I had my first taste of beer. I took a gulp and nearly choked, but I wanted more of this exotic experience. "Just one sip," Michelle gaily said, giving her boyfriend a warning look. "Soon, she'll be smoking," he said. "Want to take a puff?" He handed out the forbidden temptation.
Michelle slapped his hand. "Stop that," she said. "She's too young to smoke. And especially not THESE cigarettes."
"She looks older than 9," her boyfriend said. "That's because I'm tall," I proudly replied.
"Ok. It's almost time for bed," Michelle crooned. I didn't want to go to sleep because I was having so much fun. "Well, is there something you like to eat that your mommy doesn't let you have?" she inquired. "Yes, I love chocolate, but I don't get to eat it before bed, only as a snack," I said.
"Mommy keeps it in the high cabinet," I told Michelle. She took down the chocolate and soon my sister and I had our mouths filled with the luscious creamy, forbidden confection. We were in a blissful state and didn't even protest when Michelle put us to bed. I hugged her and said, "You are my most favorite babysitter in the world." "Aww. You're a sweetie," she said, hugging me back.
In the morning, when I awoke, I saw my mom's smiling face in the kitchen. "Estelle, when we got back you were fast asleep, but Michelle told us how well behaved you were," she said.
"Mommy, can she come back?" I asked. "Sure," my mom answered. "We had so much fun with her and her friends and her boyfriend," I said.
I saw my mom's face twist slightly. "Her friends?" "Her boyfriend?" What happened?" I told my mom about the dancing, the beers, the funny cigarettes, the staying-up-late past my bedtime, the kissing, the chocolate. I kept spilling more and more details, like a broken faucet where the water kept pouring out, except the stories pouring out of me were drowning my mom.
"No. Estelle. She is never coming back. I'm going to call her right now. Go to your room."
"She was so nice to me. She talked to me a lot and told me I'm a good dancer and singer. Mommy, can we have her come back?"
"No, Estelle," my mom replied. "She is never coming back. I'm going to call her right now. Go to your room." I never heard what my mom told Michelle, but I knew that our beautiful relationship ended before it began.
But meeting Michelle and her restless spirit lit a fire in me. I knew that more existed than my safe little world. Still, it would take decades before I would venture out of my safe surroundings. But as I got more life experience, and more confidence in myself, I started recapturing the magic of possibilities promised by Michelle all those years ago.
An Adventurous Attitude
In my 30s, as I built my career as a magazine editor and journalist, I smoked "flavored tobacco" in a hookah bar in Amsterdam, watched the sunrise at Haleakala's summit in Maui, 10,000 feet above sea level, and crashed a party at a mogul's Hollywood mansion.
With the spirit of Michelle always in the corner of my mind, I also took belly dancing lessons, was hoisted up on a float and threw beads to the crowds during Mardi Gras in New Orleans and learned how to do healing energy bodywork from a Tibetan monk. I even tried my hand at white-water rafting and loved riding the waves, the wind lashing at my hair.
When I met my husband, he joined me in my experimentation. He helped get me over my fear of eating raw fish and challenged me to do things like go on safari in Africa, go Jet-Skiing in the ocean and ride on an ostrich. And then I entered into the biggest experiment of all: getting married and having a child in midlife.
What Michelle instilled in me all those years ago lives on in my daughter and how I parent her. I like to think that even though my white-water rafting days are far behind me, I have passed the mantle of adventure and Michelle and her "Cat in the Hat" attitude to my daughter.
She is on the ski racing team at her school — she skies black diamonds with aplomb — and is the fearless goalie for the varsity lacrosse team. (I never skied and never played a sport.)
Judging by our regular conversations, I think she is also learning how to be emotionally fearless, yet discriminating in her close friendships and relationship, something that took me years to accomplish but is perhaps the best adventure of all.
