Some of my first memories? The yellow school bus picking me up for kindergarten at her simple yellow wood-planked house on the corner of Townsend Street and the I-40 service road . It was on the “southeast side” of a diverse Oklahoma City. Some of my final memories? Learning how to cook her chocolate gravy and biscuits on a special Sunday morning at their small “fancy” brick house in the newly developed suburb, when I got to stay for a rare Saturday overnight as I aged. Prior to that, for five days a week, ages 3 to 9, she was my guardian angel.
My babysitter when I was a child? Was WAY better than YOUR babysitter when you were a child. She was angelic. She was so authentic, and influential into who I am today. She was MY Mrs. O’Connor. And while she babysat multiple children, she was all mine. She was the warm, fluffy, cozy, overweight, too long, sweet-smelling, comforting, almost tearful hug. Every time. As an adult, I realize, she did that not only out of genuine love, but also out of concern. For me, and my mother’s family that I was born into, and lived with when my parents divorced at age 3.
The beauty at age 3, was that my single working mother, with I assume only an Eastern Oklahoma high school education, if that, now needed a babysitter who could take care of me when she managed the bank branch (then called a motor bank) from 8 a.m. to usually 6 p.m. when her last teller balanced.
Thank you, God, that my mother somehow found Janie O’Connor. She and her husband Albert were saints, in my opinion. He was so skinny, wiry, tall to her build, hardworking, as a civilian worker at Tinker Airforce Base. The classic 1960s-70s silver metal lunchbox worker that never missed a day clocking in, and smelled of cigarettes 24/7. If you read the nursery rhyme “Jack Sprat could eat no fat; his wife could eat no lean” they were them. They were a very KIND, loving, and generous but smart All In The Family couple. But opposite in many ways. As a child in her babysitting small business before there were regulatory processes, we were really all extended family. I even met Albert’s mother, in her remote farmhouse and played in that yard, still wondering today if there was running water there.
Janie and Albert had two older daughters, probably a similar age as my own much older 3 half-sisters, with which I didn’t have much connection. Yet Janie and Albert’s two hip daughters were in my observation fun, popular, and happy. I remember how honored I felt when I rarely got to carefully play with their troll doll. OR when Mrs. O’Connor would reward me with maybe an hour of playing with their outgrown (now) vintage Barbie dolls, with which I literally then and still today worshipped. I was a Barbie fanatic. Still am. And I credit those original Barbies, who had the black and white striped swimsuit, stiff arms and legs, short hair, and the perfect black storage carry case/closet. Today, the collection would be worth tons. And I think then, she realized that she needed to preserve it for her daughters. But she made me feel like she loved me enough, to teach me about precious things. And how to be gentle, and kind, and appreciate finer things. I had never been so gentle, as though I was handling a new baby chick. Today, I would pay those sisters tons for that Barbie case and its contents, but I hope they’ve shared it with their own children and grandchildren.
Remember the days of make-believe? Playing as a (mostly) only child with only your imagination and creativity? That was the value of being in Mrs. O’Connor’s home. It was a simpler time. And so satisfying and full of contentment.
Each of us kids at Mrs. O’Connor’s learned so much of a foundation in growing up. For example, Christy, as I remember, never got over the fear of going to school, and riding the bus, which today I would assume was separation anxiety. Her daily dramatized tears were annoying, I’m not going to lie. But Mrs. O’Connor never ran out of patience with her. Even when she peed her pants.
And the other children? From Troy as I remember, to her twin nieces Tracey and Stacey. And other kids that would pop in and out. I liked it when the kids were all girls. We could collect cicada skins and treat them like childlike currency, or use them to talk about make-believe stories pretending they were paper dolls. When boys would join us, it led to a little problem here and there. Like when we all got to spend time outside climbing the row of cherry trees along the back fence. In fact, our parents all had to pack “play clothes” so it didn’t matter if they got torn and got permanent red cherry stains. We girls could be hanging from a branch with linked arms and legs to reach the next level of ripe cherries, and the boy(s) would either tease or actually start to pull our shorts down to show our panties. You’d think we were being attacked by monsters, based on the shrill screams. Mrs. O’Connor would yell out the back door, and her verbal scolding was enough any of us ever needed.
Her rules. Ruled. A small breakfast of oven-broiled cinnamon toast. Sitting cross-legged while watching only PBS – Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers, and then when older, Electric Company. I especially remember, “It’s time for everyone to take a nap. My show is about to come on.” So finish your “one bite” of (canned) spinach, with your fish sticks (or fried spam). Clear boundaries, no exceptions. As The World Turns, in front of her console television is still an image I remember fondly today. Because if I saw it, I was running late to the twin bed upstairs to take my required nap. Speaking of upstairs, the house didn’t always have one. Not in the early years. I remember when it was added for the older sister or sisters. In fact, I remember it vividly because the contractors added it during our babysitting daytime hours. How and why so vividly? Because in playing in the backyard in our afternoon hours, I stepped directly on a long nail and it went from the bottom through the top of my foot. But I loved our little family doctor’s office, so all ended well, and think I got a lollypop when it was all cleaned out and bandaged up.
And while that should probably be the most vivid memory at Mrs. O’Connor’s, not. It was the evening that mom picked me up after the bank closed. I hugged Mrs. O goodbye as she stood in the front door frame, and as we walked slowly to the green Thunderbird (she got from my dad in the divorce). That’s when mom turned back to Janie, and asked, “Oh, I almost forgot, can you watch Tammy overnight this weekend?” “Of course (as always),” she said, “You have big plans?” That’s when my 1970s classic mom in a lower, middle-class plaid pantsuit, died red teased big hair, and wearing White Shoulders, replied, “Yes, I’m getting married (as though it was announcing a run to the local Safeway on 15th and Sunnylane).” That’s when Mrs. O’Connor and I both had our eyes pop out of our head, and both yelled in stereo, “To WHO?!” (Before I know it is To Whom, and knowing now Janie never knew it was To Whom.)
Now as I recount my memories, I can’t help but wonder if the second story of that warm O’Connor home was added when the major surprise was announced. That miracle announcement? Was that our prime of her mid-life Mrs. O’Connor was expecting! It was as shocking as my mother announcing randomly that she was getting married. What??!! How old was Janie? Her daughters were mostly grown, which is why filling her home with children to babysit made perfect sense. Months later, then Vincent was born. He was like the real live tiny babydoll all of us kids wanted to play with.
With Vince came a newly refreshed room to sleep in for overnights, including what I thought was a luxury trundle bed. The full set of Dr. Suess books in its own box holder (probably also now a collector’s item). Again, new familiar smells of Mrs. O’Connor’s light green homemade playdough, sealed in Tupperware for longevity. I was young enough to still be an early playmate with Vince. In fact, it prepared me to have an oops baby brother of my own when my dad remarried, and we’re still close today. It let me watch her teach Vince the things she taught me as a very young child. Nightly prayers for when I stayed over. (Now I lay me down to sleep…) Moving to the new house in the nearby suburbs. When skateboards became popular. And all the toys of a new child. Riding on the back of his little red tricycle led to my life’s worst scar on my knee, I can still show you today. I remember crying as though I was dying and she simply bandaged it as always. A little dab of camphophnique, then we all blow, blow, and was promised 3 cookies with milk for an afternoon snack. He even had hamsters in the new house. And when Christmas came each year, I remember what was piles and piles of what seemed like 100s of colorfully wrapped Christmas presents. Never had I ever been in a house with so many. But, it’s funny, one of the most vivid memories of that new house, was her being outside on a stepstool to wash the back sliding doors by hand, with newspaper. She kept a clean, organized, structured, and beautiful home and lifestyle. And she worked hard for it. And her only reward I ever remember? The regular visit from the “Avon Lady.” When we were little, we had to leave the room. When we got older, we were allowed to sit quietly in the front room with her, to smell the fragrances and lotions, and even see her test the new lipstick colors.
If there was ever a negative moment or memory from Mrs. O’Connor’s, I literally have no idea. Not even stepping on the nail.
The last time I spoke to her? After decades, unfortunately, it was the day of my mother’s funeral. She had read the obit I wrote in the Oklahoma City newspaper, and since my mother still had the same landline phone number, she called it. It was what a child’s guardian angel does. Thank you, God, for angels.
Conclusion: So why today, more than two years after her passing I just learn, do I write about my childhood babysitter? Because this morning in the kitchen, my husband randomly said, “You know, this year, I submitted to win the Publisher’s Clearhouse Sweepstakes. Isn’t that funny?” Then I said, “Oh my gosh, so did I, but I wasn’t going to tell you! Because my childhood babysitter won something once, I think I remember.” I then messaged Vince, who asked the sisters, to learn we all think I dreamed that. Which I now say, evidently I won the grand prize with the right childhood Angel. Today’s blessing reminder. Thank you, Mrs. O’Connor, for your cozy hug from Heaven this morning.
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