babysitter

"THE PERFECT BABYSITTER"
(My Sister, Patricia Anne Mayo-Sanco)

By Mary Susan Mayo-Strain (c)2000

Patricia Anne "Patty" Mayo

It's bedtime. Our first night in our new home on "A" Street, and oldest sister, Pat, and her little sister, Sue, are tucked into the big double-bed in the upstairs front bedroom. The street light in the alley is creating a soft and snuggly glow through the as yet uncurtained windows, creating strange shadows on the walls. Both girls are tired from the busyness of the day, the excitement of being in a new home, and wakeful as they listen to new night sounds they haven't learned to identify yet.

It's late April, and almost four months away from the new school year starting. Pat is anxiously wondering how her last year of highschool will play out, being the "new girl" in town. Sue has more important things on her mind. Will things be like they used to be?

Several times during our growing up years, it was necessary for our Momma to go back to work. Times were hard, childrens tummies needed to be filled, and from time to time there just wasn't enough money to cover all of the needs. So, our Momma made the decision that it was "time to go back to work."

When we were much younger, Momma hired girls to come in and stay with us. We had an interesting array of personalities in charge of keeping us out of the street, protecting the house from accidental burn-outs, and shooing away every stray animal that we spied and claimed for our own. One of our babysitters was very actively looking for a boyfriend, and she decided the best place to entertain them in private was at our home while Momma was away. Another kept us frantic and fearful by telling us that our Momma was going to burn in Hell for working for a man who owned "picture shows." It got to the point that no matter how lean our lifestyle was, it was not worth the anxiety Momma went through wondering what her children were being exposed to to earn a few extra dollars.

The obvious solution was to ask Pat, the oldest, to care for her three younger siblings. In turn, Momma promised Pat a shopping trip to Downtown Tulsa for new school clothes as pay for babysitting all summer long. It was the perfect answer. And definitely perfect for three children who didn't have much more than their imaginations to play with.

With Pat as our leader, life was an adventure from the time we got up in the morning until we fell into our beds at night, happily exhausted from a day filled with stories, games, building, and laughter. Her imagination topped ours in every way, and she had the maturity and wherewithal to do something about it!

One of the most lasting and versatile products of her creativity was the family of stuffed toys she made for us. Digging through scraps of material in boxes, dumping the rag bag on the floor, finding pieces large enough, she chose a colorful and durable cloth. All the while she was digging, she would be creating, in her mind and in ours, the "person" that was wanting to "be born." Phrases like, "I know you're in here. I heard you calling us. Where are you? Are you ready to be born? What do you want to look like?" had us frothing with excitement by the time the fabric was finally chosen.

Then, taking a newspaper and pencil, Pat methodically drew the shape of our newest friend. Always first the head . . . and then she would draw right down to the body. Add a couple of arms and two long (or short, depending on the size of the material) legs, plop a couple of ears on top, and wa-la........a pattern! It didn't take long from that point to transfer that shape onto the selected fabric and cut it out.

Oh, the anticipation we felt as we saw our new toy coming together! With needle and thread, she sewed every stitch, all the while building the personality of this being coming to life in her hands. Eventually, after the sewing was done and before the rag or lint stuffing went in, she took down the big box of crayons and drew on the front side of the head two big happy eyes, a soft round nose, and a big, big smile. The next step was heating up the iron and pressing over and over the crayon facial features, so as to melt the wax into the fabric and make the colors "set". Stuffing was next.....the final few stitches to close it up.....and there it was!!!!! Ready to play, ready to talk to us, tell us it's name, and suggest all kinds of fun things to do!

Our animals developed characteristics in keeping with their body structure and texture. Tubby, the kind of lazy and simple guy, was made out of white flannel and was running just a little short of stuffing. Diggle-Diggle-Doo was made of pillow ticking and had no arms. But he was a hyper little guy that was Tubby's best friend. Woo, made from red checked gingham, was our "special child." He had no arms and only tiny little stubs for legs. But we loved him at least as much, and perhaps more than the others. Then there was Angel/Devil. He was created out of two scraps of fabric....one side yellow (Angel) and the other side bright red (Devil, of course). He was our mental case. He had a dual-personality and was constantly changing his demeanor at the most inopportune time. We were made aware of his changing personality when we'd observe his head flopping back and forth and hear him saying to himself, "Angel Devil, Angel Devil." We knew then that we needed to be on our toes. Pokey was made from bright red polka-dotted cloth and his claim to fame was his bright pink ice cream cone that he not only was willing to share with the others, but was very VERY messy with!

With this family of friends, along with our litle squeaky toys, Perky and Chubby, we were able to live whatever adventure we wanted, right there in our own little world. We could sail the broadest ocean, climb the highest mountain, travel to places unknown and get lost in the jungle. There were no limits to what we could do through them.

Mary Susan "Sue-Sue" Mayo
Pat's Worshipping Little Sister

Pat was also the instigator for our own automobile production company. With Jim swinging the hammer and Pat describing the master-plan, the two youngest watched with wide-eyed wonder as day after day, the car took on a life of its own. Wheels were stolen off of the lawnmower ("borrowed") and scraps of lumber were sawed, nailed, glued, and tied together with twine. A large boxy apparatus fastened to straight boards formed the main chassis for our car. The "cab" was large enough to hold three kids......big brother, Jim, had to be the "motor", so there was a place on the back designed for a good hand-hold as he was to push us along in our touring car.

Finally the day came for us to paint it. After having found all of the other supplies we needed, we knew we'd be able to find something as simple as a can of paint. Well, no, not really. BUT, by gathering up all of the partially used cans of different colors of paint and mixing them together, there was more than enough! So that is what was done. And that day, our own personal hue of "skilajamik" was born. It was a very dark color......close to black as I recall, and smelled of that wonderful old oil-based "painty" smell. I can conjure up the memory of that odor today.

After all of the work that was put into this latest model of travel, it had to have a name! It had to be a name that spoke of its creators. At the end of much discussion and many suggestions, the name "MAYO-LAY" was decided upon. Actually, I suppose it was spelled MAYOLET, since it was meant to be our answer to the Chevrolet!

A few days later, when the old, oily paint finally dried enough to be touched, we deemed it the day to take our car for it's first ride! With almost uncontainable enthusiasm Pat helped put her two youngest siblings into the cramped, splintery cab, seated herself toward the front so as to try to steer the thing, and told Jim, "OKAY! LET'S GO!!!!!!!!!!"

Jim gave that wonderful old skilijamik Mayo-lay one shove, and all four wheels splayed outwards at the same time. With a huge BUMP, we were wheel-less. With wide eyes and disappointed bewilderment we clambered out of the Mayo-lay, shoved it to the side of the yard, and went on to bigger and better things.

Pat was, to our young eyes, a master magician! Her elaborate tricks kept us questioning long into the night, "How did she DO that?" One of her best performances centered around the old-fashioned wooden play-pen that was currently being used by baby, Tim. It was a huge structure (to small eyes, anyway), and the bottom separated at the center to allow for folded-up storage. Of course, being so young, and usually being IN the playpen and not looking at it's construction, we were totally unaware of this feature.

Seated on the overstuffed divan, Pat turned the playpen on its side and situated herself inside. We could see her plainly and were very comfortable with that. Then she had Jim cover the side facing us with the old black Army blanket. And while we waited for a few brief minutes, she unfolded the bottom portion, slipped out through the backside and deftly closed the "floor" of the playpen back up. At the given signal Jim, with a great flourish, snatched the blanket away and the playpen, of course, would be EMPTY! We were AMAZED! In fact, we were so amazed we were afraid. We cried! We wanted our sister back! We were afraid that she was lost in the great abyss, never to return to us again.

Quickly Jim and Pat both saw the trauma we were experiencing, so with that same dramatic movement, Jim placed the blanket back on the playpen. With MUCH clatter and haste, Pat crawled through the floor of the playpen and closed up the opening again. And she was BACK!

While Tim and I were very impressed with her talents as a magician, we begged her to NEVER do that trick again. It was too frightening for us. But she never would tell us how she did it. It was YEARS before her audience finally caught on to her!

So many memories of growing up with the World's Perfect Babysitter made it hard for this young girl, laying beside the big sister she worshipped in a brand new house, a different town, and feeling the insecurity natural to a little one in such circumstances, were the catalyst for the wonderings: "Will things be the same?"

Voiced to big sister, little sister was assured that no matter how things changed, she would always be there. No, maybe those adventures were part of our past, but there would be new vistas to conquer, new thresholds to cross, and new ideas to be birthed.

She was right. We didn't do the "same" things ...... but that spirit of wonder never left us. And it manifests itself and keeps us company throughout our lifetimes!

Big sister Pat truly WAS the "Perfect Babysitter!"

In Later Years, Pat and her Mother --
Probably Recalling Some Stories From Times Past



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