The baby sitter

Not quite Mister Rogers

It was a measure of Sunny and Eli’s utter desperation I had been called upon by them to come babysit the girls while they tended to some adult business offsite. Eli began by giving me the drill.

“OK, this is going to be really easy,” he said. “They can get their own drinks of water. They can go potty by themselves. They each can have one snack.”

“Thank God,” I muttered to myself. He continued.

“The snacks are right here on the counter. You really won’t have to do anything. Alma (4) has her iPad and Harriet (7) has her video game. They will pretty much amuse themselves until we get back. You can do this.”

And thus did my baby-sitting duties as Fred Rogers from hell begin. I had the latest issue of Golf Magazine. Alma was doing something on her iPad while Harriet played a video game on the big screen featuring a mischievous duck named Avocado who steals stuff from a farmer and his wife. So far so good.

As an aside, Harriet used to be known as Hattie prior to first grade where her school requires her and her classmates to be addressed by their given names instead of a nickname. I guess they think it’s best to nip this alias thing in the bud.

“Can I ask you something,” Harriet née Hattie said.

“Sure,” I replied.

“Do you know how to take care of children?”

“Do I know how to do what?”

“Do you know how to take care of children? Some baby sitters don’t know how. I think there’s a book on how to take care of children if you want to read it.”

“Actually I think I’m doing pretty good,” I huffed. “But just to make you feel better, I’ll look for that book at the library,” I lied through my teeth as I texted the Deacon for any other ideas on how to field this throw from left field.

My answer seemed to satisfy her. She again turned her attention to the naughty duck in the video game. Meanwhile, Alma had her nose glued to her iPad, lost in her 4-year-old thoughts. This was going better than I expected.

Of course, at that point HNH began opening drawers and looking behind books on the bookshelf.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“I’m looking for the remote,” she said. “Daddy always hides it in a different place.”

“Welllllll,” I said. “If your daddy hides the remote, it seems to me that he must not want you to have it. Right?”

Crickets. She continued on her search without regard to me or my tendentious line of questioning.

“Harriet,” I said, my voice transmuting into what passes for gravitas coming from me. “I believe I asked you a question.”

“And I don’t want to answer that question,” she calmly replied as she looked under the couch.

I have coached baseball. I have taught school. I have been around other people’s offspring all my life. And the kid formerly known as Hattie is the first one to ever take the Fifth on me. I was actually impressed. And at a loss for a response.

Mercifully, Eli and Sunny got back before I lowered the boom on my 7-year-old civil libertarian. Eli sat down in his easy chair and asked me how it went.

“Oh, we got off to a great start. Right out of the chute Harriet wanted to know if I knew how to take care of children,” I said.

“Well? Do ya? What did you tell her? I’m all ears.” Eli crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap in a “now this ought to be good” posture.

“I don’t want to answer that question,” I replied.

And with that, Fred Rogers from hell headed back home, where I found the Deacon lying on the couch with her arm over her eyes laughing hysterically.

“I just read your text,” she said while waving her phone in my direction with her other hand. “Harriet asked if you knew how to take care of children. That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

That’s OK. I am a really secure man and I’m glad to lighten somebody’s load with a story at my expense. Because I live in a house where there is plenty of amber liquid for moments such as these. A house where nobody hides the remote or asks me questions I don’t want to answer.