Whilst reading
Collin's in depth memory of a babysitter and a sad clown painting (for the most part - there's other stuff, too) a flash went off in my brain. Suddenly, I started to recall the babysitters that I've been forced to deal with throughout my lifetime. Three evil childcare "practitioners" quickly came to mind: the Slobs, the Jesus-Freaks, and the Trailer Trash.
First off, a disclaimer: these names are (obviously) not real names. Well, maybe Trailer Trash - the more I think about it, the more I think her first name actually was Trailer. Or Trailette. Since these are some huge repressed memories that probably played a part in me doing picking up trash outside of Portland's Juvenile Detention Home as part of a community service sentincing, I'm going to do my first series posting. It's kind of like a mini-series, only more depressing and believeable.
Without further ado, The Slobs.
As with most single parents, my mom was constantly forced to choose between a loving relationship with her son, and a loving relationship with her son in a card board box on the street. Luckily, she chose the former. Unfortunatley, that choice also meant that someone needed to watch me.
Enter: The Slobs*.
The Slobs lived in a decent-sized house with a pool - two attributes that even today I find attractive. As a kid, I was no different. I loved water, regardless if it had rattlesnakes or nutria in it, so finding a real pool with real chlorine that I could swim in was like visiting the Bahamas everyday.
The Slobs, at first glance, were slobs at all. In fact, they seemed to resemble somewhat lifelike human beings with emotions and feelings and hearts. This, like their immaculately clean front room and kitchen, was a disgusting facade. Anyhow, The Slobs were comprised of Mama Slob and Bubba Slob.
Mama Slob was a large woman who found solace in little kids' unhappiness, especially if garnered directly from her actions. Things are fuzzy when I think about her, but she was a seemingly large woman, with padded Basset hound-like jowels that hung off her cheek bones and shook when she screamed (which was often).
Often dressed in a contemporary muu-muu, Mama Slob would shift herself around the house, searching for Bubba Slob in order to make him do some sort of task. This wouldn't be a big deal if it was indeed Bubba having to do said task. Unfortunately, Bubba understood these orders as something he could transfer over to me. Like a weird, evil sort of monarchy. Except that instead of bountiful riches and glory, I inherrited messy bedrooms and filthy bathrooms.
Bubba was, I'm sure, a great kid. Normally. But left alone with me, he'd get this evil sort of grin almost immediately after our moms would leave the room. You could see his tiny little brain starting to overclock itself, thinking about all of the things he could get out of.
To his credit, Bubba would always try to "spin" me into thinking I was supporting a greater good by helping him. Instead of just forcing me to clean his room under the overarching umbrella of physical harm, he would try to energize and instill in me an emotional catalyst, something that would make me think, "Yeah, picking up this asshole's messy room
is going to be fun!"
Thinking back, Bubba is becoming interchangeable with Mama Slob - they were both clad in thick skin and wore incredibly round heads. In fact, if it weren't for the brightly colored floral muu-muus, my memory can't tell between them.
I digress...
Bubba also seemed to have a fierce jealous/competitive streak. I vividly remember trying to learn how to "skateboard" (in quotes because what I was doing was NOT, by any general definition, actually skateboarding) in his driveway, which was long enough to roll a good distance, and even had a small hill of sorts that led into The Slob's garage. Or garage door, as it was often closed.
Anyhow, when Bubba found me (he ALWAYS found me, too - he could find Bin Laden in a few hours if they told him his garage would be cleaned) attempting to "skateboard" down the driveway hill, he laughed mockingly and told me that I would die if I kept trying to do it. "Only big kids," he scoffed menacingly "can do that." With that poignant statement, he grabbed my board and walked the few feet up the incline. He placed the board on the cement, mounted it, and with a short kick, launched himself down the decline. Now, I was having a hell of a time mounting the courage to do what he just did, so I was both motivated to do the same and terrified as hell because, if what he said were true, I would die by day's end if I were successful in the endeavor. After all, he was a big (asshole/dickhead/prick of a) kid, and he did rolled down the hill.
After he completed the stunt, he kicked the skateboard back to me, laughed, and walked triumphantly into the garage for what I am positive was a light snack of lasagna and butter.
After all was said and done, evening had begun to creep up on me and I was still out there, forcing myself to stay on the Godforsaken skateboard the entire journey from hill "top" to hill "bottom." On my thousandth try, I succeeded. I can still remember the exhillaration - my heart was racing and a bit jumpy, my hands were shaking, and my soul was screaming brilliantly.
For a couple of seconds. The hill was seriously about five feet long.
Just to make sure it wasn't a fluke, I went back and did it five more times. Once I was confident in my newfound ability, I ran into the Slob's kitchen, looked directly into Bubba's beady, glazed eyes, and told him that I took the hill. "And I didn't die! So there!"
Bubba got up, forced me outside, and promptly threw me to the ground. "Don't bring your skateboard to my house anymore!" he screamed. His face was reddened and his voice quaked. He looked like he was going to kick me, but instead, he just pointed at me. He then kicked some dirt in my direction and walked back into the house.
Hopefully he cried in his cake that night.
So that was The Slobs. Stay tuned for the next installment of Childsnare, coming (hopefully) tomorrow. Or Wednesday.
Hopefully.
*These are not in chronological order, by the way. I have no idea which came first: The Slobs or the Trailer Trash or the Jesus-Freaks. I just remember them as (evil, uncomfortable) people.