Intuition is the space between words.
-Stephanie D. Pearson-Davis
I was 16 years old. A teenager who did teenager-y things like hang out with my best friend, talk about boys and mean girls and babysit. Babysitting was my job before I had a job. By the time I was 16 I had been baby-sitting professionally (professionally meaning I got paid) for about five years. I worked regularly for the same families and they often referred me because I was good. I loved my kids and my kids loved me. I was 16, but I wasn’t above pretending with dolls, playing tag or coloring. Even though I was charged with providing a certain level of care for my charges— I too was a kid.
I grew up in a very traditional home. Children were often seen and not heard. Character and integrity were paramount. Respecting adults was the absolute rule. Like the homes of most of my peers; there was very little wiggle room in this particular area. Adults were adults. Kids were less than adults. I understand the hierarchy. Adults have to get through a lot of shit to get there. Still, children are just less articulate, physically smaller humans and they… they deserve respect too.
My parents talked to me and my siblings about inappropriate touching and behavior as children. Not specific actions, but like if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable or touches you or tries to touch you— Tell us immediately. Even if it was one of their very close friends. I remember being shocked by that, but then I was like… Ok Mom and Dad, I got it. Anyone does anything inappropriate to me— I’m telling.
I showed up to babysit for the Miller family as I had so many times before— on my bike. They lived about a mile away which felt like 10 miles on this 94 degree summer afternoon. I rang the doorbell and expected the no nonsense, Jamaican housekeeper to greet me at the door. I always loved her accent when she fussed at the children. Imagine my surprise when the father pulled the door back. Shocked, I almost asked him what was he doing there. Then, I remembered… manners. Plus, I was on the doorstep of his house.
He was on the phone. He opened the door, casually waved me in and continued his conversation in the next room. The house was silent except for the sound of him talking in the next room. I was anxious right away. Where were the girls? Where was the housekeeper? Where was Mrs. Miller? Hell, where was the dog? Maybe I was going to be fired. It was a ghost town. I stood by the door for several minutes and then I thought maybe I should just go find the girls. I took two steps and found my self in the family room where porn was playing on the television.
By 16 I knew what porn was, but I didn’t have any experience with it. In my naivety; I became embarrassed for him. I had interrupted him. He didn’t mean for me to see this. So I went to the kitchen. Then I thought… Goodness! To get to the kitchen I have to go through the family room. He will know that I saw the tv. So I tiptoe-ran in the family room turned off the television and went back to the front door. Maybe he’ll think he did it. I was a child making an attempt to protect the honor of a man. It seemed as if an eternity passed while I waited at the door. I finally decided that I should just go home.
As I placed my hand on the doorknob to leave; he pounced around the corner out of nowhere. I immediately asked about the girls and the housekeeper. The girls were gone and he had given the housekeeper the day off. His wife, a doctor, was at the hospital. I felt uncomfortable. I didn’t know why. The girl on the inside of me was yelling for me to run, but the polite girl would not turn and go. He apologized for not calling to cancel before I arrived. The polite girl said, “No problem.”, while the girl inside raged at the inconvenience of having to ride my bike in the hot ass sun for nothing. I still wasn’t mad at the fact that he was clearly a fucking pervert because I was too naive to know. Instead, I told him I better get going and to have Mrs. Miller call me about working the following week. I still wanted to work for them.
With my hand on the knob he said, “Can I show you something before you go? I got something for Mrs. Miller for her birthday. I want to know if you think she’ll like it.” Somebody wanted my opinion? Cool. “Sure.”, I said. He returned with a shopping bag and began to pull out a silky fabric with beautiful flowers on it. “Do you think she’ll like it?” It was gorgeous. It was lingerie. I was sixteen. I was terrified. I was still polite. “Yes. It’s very nice. I’m sure she’ll like it. Ok bye.” I opened the door. “Well, wait. Will you try it on for me so I can see what looks like on?” In a small voice I responded, “No. I don’t think tha—” He cut me off. “Pleeeease. Are you sure you won’t..” He took a step toward me. I’m not sure what he said after that. I yelled, “No.” over my shoulder, flew out that door, got on my bike and cried the entire ride home wondering what had I done to give him the impression that I was that kind of girl.
And what kind of girl is that? Today, I understand that kind of girl is every girl… and every woman. Today I understand that I had nothing to do with his choices. Today I don’t own the guilt and shame that said I gave him a clue or a signal that I was interested in him. I understand that if it hadn’t been me; it would have been someone else. I also understand that being polite and mannerable has a place. And that place never exists at my expense or anyone else’s.
I'm not here because I'm an expert. I'm here because I have experiences. -Stephanie
*The name of the family was changed to protect the identities of those sweet children I loved so much, but never saw again.