A few years ago, the morning after a rather new babysitter sat, I turned on my computer to find right there, in the previous evening's history: porn. His brains lodged squarely in his pants, my new sitter didn't have the where-with-all to clear the history before I arrived home, so there it was. Porn, porn, porn. The very next day he became my former sitter and I began a "No computer usage" rule among my varied stable of high school sitters. I also had my laptop password protected. So much for, "Can I just borrow your computer to do my homework, Mrs. Chicky?" The answer was now, "No, you may not."
I'm still very pro boy babysitter for my son and always have been. Now that his father lives elsewhere and even when he technically lived here, it was the boy babysitter who taught Jimmy how to throw a frisbee and hold a lacrosse stick. It was the boy babysitter who shot hoops, played tag and sat on the floor with him for hours building lego ships and discussing plans for an outer space satellite sub station with duel action laser shields, blasting power and plenty of storage space for energy pellets. The girl sitters tended to watch, standing slouched with their hands on their hips telling him what to do and what not to do, but the boys sat down and did it with him.
Fast forward to this past summer to when a couple of teen brothers-- lovely young fellows whose parents are childhood friends of mine-- offered to babysit for my young son. They're good kids who actually like each other's company and so I offered them the gig together. I rattled off bedtimes and optimistic notions of book reading and teeth brushing and as I scribbled down my cell phone number said off-handedly, "If you get hungry, help yourself. No beer, no porn." And then I took my leave. I said it to be funny. I said it because I know their parents. At any rate, I said it.
Apparently what happened was, the older of the two let the comment roll of his back. What-ever, Old Lady. Do you even know what porn is? He was probably thinking. If he thought about it at all. But the younger of the two thought about it. He thought and thought. And the thing of it is, he thought I said, "Corn."
He wondered silently to himself why on earth I might forbid him to have corn. He though back on everything he knew about corn and considered that he may have missed a crucial piece of information, but how? And what?! Was she saving it for something? Was this corn super special? Maybe there's something very bad about corn and I don't know what it is, he thought. How could I not know? Does everyone else know but me? How could this have slipped me by? For two weeks he thought about corn and it's potentially damaging properties. Was it an age thing? Choking perhaps? Is corn illegal in some states? Is it poisonous? Maybe there are kids who are allergic? But he'd never heard of such a thing. It must be so obvious, something everyone accepts as common knowledge because his big brother didn't even flinch.
"Huh, corn," Little Brother mused. Who knew?
He had to find out but was too nervous to ask. Why else would he let two weeks get by? That's a long time to stew. And when was the right moment to ask about corn? He had to time it just right. Finally, he approached his dad while he was reading.
"Uh. Mm, Dad?"
"Yes, Dear."
"Um remember when we babysat for Jimmy?"
"When?"
"When we babysat for Jimmy that one night. Remember?"
"That was two weeks ago."
"Yes. Remember?"
"What's up? Everything okay?"
"Why is
corn bad?"
"Yeah. Mrs. Chicky, she said, 'No beer. No corn.' Why is corn bad?"
"Why is-
"Why can't we have it?"
Well you can imagine my friend as he looked at his young son. The light bulb switched on. His face flushed red. He shook his head and a smile cracked so wide across his face that for a moment he looked like a muppet. His older son locked eyes with him and they both began to laugh hysterically.
"You've been thinking about this for two weeks?" Big Brother asked.
"What, Dad? C'mon tell me," said Little Brother. He chose to ignore his older brother and wait for his dad to answer but Dad was laughing too hard at this moment and wanted to compose himself so that his tone would be respectful enough that his young son wouldn't feel even more embarrassed than he already was.
"C'mon, jeeze, what?" his younger son implored. He, too, was starting to blush.
"Porn, not corn," Big Brother chided. My friend was still laughing.
"What? Porn?" Little Brother said.
"Yes, Dear," their Dad answered, "She said, 'No beer, no porn.' She didn't want you drinking beer and watching porn while you were babysitting."
Little Brother finally got it. His eyes seemed to leaf through the imaginary porn file in his mind and he inhaled deeply.
"Ohhhh," he said. He could relax now, mission accomplish. The anguish was over and all was right with the world once again. Porn not corn. Phew! Little Brother smiled, got up and left the room. Big Brother went back to what he was doing and Dad laughed about it to himself for the next two weeks.
Now, I'm told, whenever the boys are getting ready to go out somewhere; to a friend's house or a soccer game; a guitar lesson or movie; their dad reminds them of their curfew, reminds them to watch out for each other, then adds-- thanks to me-- "And remember, boys: No beer. No corn."
