Being trusted makes a person trustworthy
Mary Jo Cowan (1934-1981)
Mary Jo was my mom’s friend. Her husband, Bob, was the Vice President of Daisy, the company where my dad worked, and our families were quite intertwined throughout my childhood. Despite a twenty-year difference in their ages, Mary Jo and Mom shared coffee many mornings after their husbands had gone to work and their kids to school. They commiserated about family life, discussed the latest weight-loss trends, planned holiday meals, and shared gossip about people in our small Northwest Arkansas town. Mary Jo convinced Mom to join her as a model in a charity fashion show, and Mom invited Mary Jo to volunteer with her at the local hospital. They loved each other and provided comfort to each other as they raised kids in the tumultuous 1960s.
Soon after I turned ten, Mary Jo asked me if I would be interested in babysitting for her two children, Jill and Melody. I loved the idea of making my own money, so without asking Mom (although I suspect now that Mary Jo had already cleared it with her), I said yes.
At first, I stayed with the girls for an hour or two in the afternoon while Mary Jo ran to the store to pick up groceries, which usually included a fresh chicken for her toy poodle, Twinkle, or to the hospital to work a shift as a candy-striper volunteer. Before long, she asked me to stay with them on Saturday evenings, too, so she and her husband could go out dancing at the local Elks Club. Within a couple years, I stayed there when Mary Jo and Bob traveled out of town for an overnight or even a weekend. By the time I was a teenager, I felt like I practically lived there.
I knew Mary Jo and Bob trusted me with a big responsibility, and I took it seriously. I insisted that the girls follow the rules, do their homework, and go to bed at the prescribed hour. Only rarely did they fuss about it. My parents lived close enough that they could be there in a couple of minutes if anything ever happened, but fortunately, nothing ever did.
Some nights, when they were out late, the TV stations signed off for the night, and I struggled to keep my eyelids from drooping. I found myself repeatedly checking my watch as I listened intently for Twinkle’s nails to hit the floor as she ran down the hall to greet them. I fought off any sleepiness, though, because responsible babysitters didn’t fall asleep on the job. I was determined to look alert when they arrived home, whatever time that was. When they finally arrived, Mary Jo would pay me for my time—a dollar an hour if I remember correctly, and Bob would drive me the short distance to my house.
Mary Jo died from cancer at the age of 47, so I never got to ask her why she trusted me with the charge of her children at such a young age. As I look back on it, I can imagine that she saw it as an opportunity to teach her girls about responsibility at the same time as she was teaching me. In today’s world, she’d be criticized for leaving children alone at our ages. But back then, it was as natural as bell-bottoms and miniskirts. These fashion trends might have died out by the time I became an adult (thank goodness!), but my self-confidence in handling most situations, and my dependability in following through with what I say I will do, has not. Mary Joe’s trust in me helped me hone these skills and prepared me for a responsible adulthood.
I remember doing that when I babysat for my neighbors in the early 70s. The TV would sign off, go to grey static and I would sit on the couch and try not to fall asleep!
Wow, ten was young. You don't look much older than your older charge. I think I was twelve when I first babysat. Started at 50 cents an hour, retired at $1.00