Sharing is Caring — Tales Of My Childhood Caregivers

The sound of Kraft mac n cheese stirring on the stove pot, my hand scribbling on addition packets on the coffee table, and scratchy pink and purple glitter under my fingernails; bring me back to my days with my babysitter, Lori. Although I don't remember much about our short time together, just Kindergarten and first grade, I feel a longing for the days where I was watched over and cradled like a baby — well, because I was one. Life broken up into morning walks to school, recess, dismissal, timeouts, "Mommy is here!" and everything in between.

Lori was the daughter of the landlord, in the building my family lived at. Sometimes her younger sister would come upstairs, and we would watch Avril Lavigne music videos. I looked up to her like a younger sister might look up to her big sister. As a high schooler, she knew all about boys and makeup, wore American Eagle ripped jeans, and was plain cool. Your teenage babysitter as a child always seems closer to a friend than a "supervisor." We see the cool babysitter trope on T.V. all the time when the kids on the Disney channel get a babysitter for the night who lets them stay up late, eat pizza, gummy worms, and watch scary movies. Less strict than the parents, but just old enough to boss you around, it's the perfect mix.

Lori was a young entrepreneur, engaging in such a demanding job at a young age. So when I read The Babysitters Club graphic novels a few years later, I saw Lori in those characters. Illustrated by Raina Telgmier and written by Ann M. Martin, the B.S.C. books follow the day-to-day club of founder and president, Kristy Thomas; vice-president, Claudia Kishi; secretary, Mary Anne Spier; and treasurer, Stacey McGill. The girls babysat neighborhood kids, had mini-camps in the summer, brainstormed inventions like the Kid Kit, a personalized box of arts and crafts, and more. In The New Yorker, Martin commented, "I just really wanted a group of girls who were very different from one another and become very close friends." She added, "I still wanted to present this idea of girls who could be entrepreneurial, who ran this business successfully, even though they were not perfect."

But, my early childhood memories with caregivers don't just start with Lori. The daycare I attended as a six-month-old baby until I graduated pre-school has given me the fondest memories in life. Led by daycare owner, Ms. Carlotta, or Ms. La La as we called her, I walked into my daycare's peeling white gates in a bustling corner of Brooklyn, and entered a rainbow world of kids, from every religion, race, and ethnicity. We spent days learning how to sing "He's Got The Whole World In His Hands," riding in toy cars outside and taking spontaneous day trips by riding the trains of New York City. My first word was "Savi," the name of the elderly Guyanese woman who watched over me when I first got to Ms. La La's. I met my best friend of 14 years at that daycare, and my mother met a woman who has become like a second family member, my pre-school teacher, Ms. Sandra.

When I spoke to Ms. Sandara over the phone this week, I heard her sweet Guyanese accent that still made me feel like I was swimming in a pool of honey, all these years later. As she cooed a baby in her lap, the newest brown bundle of joy under her watch, she told me what draws her to kids and has kept her working with them for over 20 years. "I love my job because I'm so encouraged when children are learning, you know. I just love kids, and I love to work with kids, especially small kids." I don't think I would ever be cut-out to work as a daycare teacher; my patience runs so thin. But as Ms. Sandra spoke, I understood that women and men like her have opened their arms up to powdery young babies and love them as their own. We owe them for making our childhoods so unique, and how every day when we ran into their arms, they made it feel as if the world was a warm teddy bear for us to play with.

There are many women, just like Ms. Sandra, all over New York City. Most of them are Caribbean and have been working as nannies, babysitters, or in daycares since they immigrated from their countries and into the United States. According to Tamara Mose, a sociology professor at Brooklyn College and author of Raising Brooklyn: Nannies, Childcare, and Caribbeans Creating Community, Caribbean nannies play a crucial role in New York City's economy. However, their contribution is often taken for granted, which reflects in their salaries. "What these nannies provide is low-wage child care and consistent child care for the workforce essentially, and what they're able to do is allow these upper- and middle-class folks to work in the economy. Therefore they're crucial to that entire system because they are actually allowing people to go and work." Wherever there are wealthy neighborhoods and white families, you can find their toddlers being pushed by in beige strollers from Saks Fifth Avenue, by their Caribbean nannies. Even though these caregivers provide countless hours of their day tending to their employer's children, they often receive low-salaries, abusive treatment, and little respect. In The Cut, a nanny from St. Vincent explained that her employers had not paid her since the Coronavirus struck in March, leaving her struggling to pay rent and care for her teenage son. Her good friend, Jenna Layne, a nanny on the East Side of Manhattan, died from the Coronavirus this year. "She was one of the most beautiful people you could ever meet," she comments. "A lot of nannies from the Caribbean have died. We have a nannies group, and they would post the people. It's about ten to 15 from the Caribbean. A lot of them had to go into work, and that's one of the reasons why I think so many of them lost their lives."

Thankfully domestic-worker organizations, like the National Domestic Workers Alliance founded by Ai-Jen Poo and Allison Julien, have started to pop up all over New York and the rest of the country to offer nannies and domestic-workers their fundamental rights. The days where employers would undercut their immigrant nannies or threaten to report their immigration status, alas is coming to an end.

After I left Ms. La La’s daycare, and Lori eventually went off to college, my grandparents, Ummi and Baba, started watching over me and my little brother, Jair. All grandparents are sticky sweet like the cherries on sundaes, but have no problem putting you in your place and can be a little snappy, like the crunchy almonds floating in the vanilla ice cream.

This switch didn't feel weird because I was practically B.F.F.s with my grandparents since I knew how to walk. They lived just downstairs, on the next floor. Ummi trying to shove wheat pancakes down my brother and I's mouth, watching The Wendy Williams Show with Baba, the dance sessions to whatever vinyl was spinning on the record player, and daily trips to Target; are things I will never forget. When I asked my Ummi if she thought watching over my brother and I so often made our bond stronger, she replied instantly. "Of course."

The care I received from all these people as a child continually reminds me that I have a community that loves me. And they have loved me before I even know how to babble the word, love! I thank my parents for paying for quite an expensive daycare and for protecting me by taking the time to make sure I always had people to look out for me. I asked some of my followers on Instagram if they had nannies or other caregivers and how they think those people affected their lives. Many people said their nannies influenced their humor. One of my best friends and someone else said they learned more about their Hispanic culture from the abuelas who cared for them. A friend of mine talked about how she and her younger sister now FaceTime their nanny regularly because since the Coronavirus struck, they haven't been able to see her.

One girl told the heart-warming story that her family helped her nanny get her immigration papers. The people who didn't have caregivers said they appreciated how independent and mature they became at an early age. When I asked my best friend, the one I met at daycare, what was the best gift going to daycare gave her; she said, "a lifelong friend."

In pre-school, teachers used to say, "Sharing is Caring." Ms. Sandra, Ms. La La, Lori, Ummi, Baba, — and everyone else who has watched over me in my life, have shared their love, their time, and their kindness more than I could ever repay them. And now, I can do my part and share just how much their care still means to me all these years later.

Media Links

The Babysitters Club Picture (Right above - “Lori was a young entrepreneur …”)

https://www.yayomg.com/the-truth-about-stacey-bsc/

Nanny in red hat on City Bus (Above - “There are many women, just like Ms. Sandra…”)

https://www.featureshoot.com/2014/06/thought-provoking-portraits-of-new-york-city-children-with-their-nannies/

Instagram Story Question Stickers (Above - “The care I received from all these people as a child …”)

Credit - Sanai Rashid

Sources