“They’re Weird People, Mom”

 

My babysitter Mary Ann uttered that phrase when I was about 11 years old.  I think her name was Mary Ann.   She only babysat that one time.  I will be interested to hear from my two younger brothers when I tell this story if and how they remember any of the events from Mary Ann’s failed attempt at babysitting.  It was the mid-seventies in North College Hill, a suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio.  Sitters made about 75 cents an hour then.  I paid attention when my mom was working out the payment terms making mental notes so I’d know what to charge when I got old enough to babysit. 

I’m thinking it was about 8:30 or 9:00 at night.  My parents had probably gone to dinner and a movie, a date night.  Good for them.  They certainly deserved it.  Dad taught college English at a local university and mom had just graduated from law school.  I think she was in the process of preparing to pass the bar exam.  At the time I didn’t appreciate what an awesome feat it was to not only get through law school but to pass the bar exam on the first try while caring for three children.  My brothers Chris and Marty would have been about 8 and 5 years old, respectively, the night Mary Ann came to give my parents a well-earned night off.  They must have been upstairs for the night already when all the boys showed up. 

I was in the dining room reading my book. I was usually sitting somewhere reading my book.  I was short and chubby with barely discernable breasts. I was awkward and nerdy with long straight reddish-brown hair which I parted in the middle. I had freckles on my nose, and I was prettier back then than I knew at the time.  I remember I felt like an ugly duckling, a misfit or sorts.  I believe then that I would never get married or have children, because no one would want me.  I would become a doctor or a lawyer like my mom. Mary Ann was in the living room watching tv when there was a pounding at the door.  She answered and let at least half a dozen teenage boys into our house, giggling and telling them they had to keep it down. 

“Um, Mary Ann, can I talk to you for a minute?” I cautioned, “We are not allowed to have boys in the house.”  She laughed and told me I shouldn’t say anything to my parents about it.  She told me to be cool.  She called me a goody two shoes. I tried really hard to be cool, but I was so not cool with any of this.  One boy started up the stairs but she talked him into staying on the first floor.   Then a small contingent of them headed into the kitchen and started rummaging through the pantry and the fridge. 

“Hey, that’s our food.  You’re not allowed in there. My mom and dad will be really mad,” I tried to reason with the boys.  At this point Mary Ann was back in the living room, and I think she was making out with one of them.   A boy whose face I can’t remember laughed at me and said I should let them have some food, that I looked like I had had too much food already.  Another one said I had pretty hair but I should watch my weight or I’d be a fat pig before too long.  I felt tears welling up but my anger and indignation rose above it, and I yelled, “You boys better get out of here or I’m calling the police.”  We had a yellow wall phone in the kitchen with a rotary dial.  The boy who warned me about the horrors of becoming a fat pig fished my mom’s kitchen shears out of a drawer and said, “Well if I cut this phone line, that’ll make it pretty hard to rat on us.”  

A third boy took the kitchen shears out of his hand and said he was going to cut my hair off if I didn’t shut up.  I screamed as loud as I could.  We lived in a townhouse.  Maybe neighbors would hear me through the walls.  The boy came toward me with the scissors but I ducked under his arms and fled from the house.   I don’t know what they did after that. 

I ran across the parking lot to one of the other townhouses, to Mrs. Curry’s house.  She always seemed to be home.  She was a “stay at home” mom.  We didn’t have that phrase back then.  All I know was my mom didn’t work in the school lunch room or make it to the PTA meetings.  My mom worked at a legal publishing company during the day and went to law school at night.  Adults like my girl scout leader and some of my teachers would talk about my mom working as a source of pity towards us. But I was so proud of her.  I still am. The tears were flowing by the time I pounded on Mrs. Curry’s door. 

Then it’s a bit of blur. The police came.  I think they talked to me and asked me what happened.  My parents were still out for the evening.  We didn’t have cell phones or even pagers.  If they had found a pay phone maybe they could have come home sooner. 

The next image in my memory is me sitting on the edge of my twin bed with the big yellow flowered bedspread.  My brothers are asleep in the room next door.  They have bunk beds, but since I’m the oldest and only girl I get my own room.  Mary Ann is downstairs and her mother has come to bring order.  Her mother has to explain to my parents her daughter invited a bunch of boys into their house and the police had to be called to make them leave.  Mary Ann’s mom is laying into her pretty hard and asking her what she was thinking, how could she do something like this, and lamenting how embarrassed she is. 

Mary Ann’s only defense was, “They’re weird people, mom.”  I was supposed to be asleep but I tore down the stairs, fresh tears flowing, and screamed at Mary Ann, “NO!  You’re weird people.!”  She was talking about my parents and I felt like she was talking about me.  For some reason this comment zinged me worse than the food and fat pig remarks.  Mary Ann’s mom told her daughter to apologize.  She hugged me while I sobbed into her bosom. She stroked my hair and told me Mary Ann didn’t mean it, and it would be okay.  She made me hot chocolate and sent me back to bed.

Why did she describe my parents, my family as weird?  It seemed like an insult at the time.  My parents were loving and smart and funny. They were liberal progressive hippie types.  My dad’s book collection took up a whole wall in the living room from floor to ceiling. The dining room had become a makeshift law library for my mom. 

 

I don’t remember anything else about that night.  I haven’t thought about it for decades.  I’m 55 now and my parents are gone so I can’t ask them.  I wish I had asked them.  It’s strange how seemingly unrelated things can trigger such strong memories.   My husband and I live with our cats.  Our children are grown and have their own house and their lives.  Because it’s just the two of us we joke a lot.  A couple weeks ago I said to my husband if someone were to bug our house and could listen in on our conversations, they’d think we were really weird people.  And it all came back to me. 

I wonder where those boys are now and what they have done with their lives.  I wonder if Mary Ann has kids of her own and if she left them with babysitters.  I’m weird people, and it’s okay.