The Best Babysitter in Town Vol. 2 Ch. 21

Chapter 21

I didn’t get to be the best babysitter in town by dismissing my charges when they say something nutty (some of them are toddlers – they pretty much only say nutty stuff). This wasn’t nutty though. This was that whole other category of nonsense that comes not from silliness but from a seriously messed up place. I couldn’t dismiss him, but I also couldn’t address it just by saying what I thought – no you don’t, ignore everything your stepmonster ever taught you, and never bring this up again. That’s just dismissing it but using more words.

So instead I took a guess about why he said it. “If this is about wanting me to spank you instead of your stepmom, I’m really not going to tell her. You won’t get in trouble with her … And you don’t have to tell her either. You know that, right?” As in you’re a grown ass man and don’t need to ever speak to your stepmom again if you don’t want to.

“I know. I just … Never mind. I’m sorry I even said anything.”

“No, don’t do that. It wasn’t easy for you to say, so tell me why.” We could at least deal with the feelings, or try to anyway.

“I ruined the evening.”

“You really didn’t though. Yeah, we left early and it wasn’t fun getting you home, but it’s not a big deal. Like I said last night, it’s fine.”

“But … I was wrong.”

“It was an accident, but … Gordy, you are 20 years old. You get to make mistakes without getting punished for them. And you already know you made a mistake, so it’s not like you’d learn anything from it.” What does spanking teach anyone except to avoid getting caught? Setting aside all the damage it does (for proof, see “Rooney, Gordon”) but it just doesn’t work. People need to learn to regulate their own behavior via intrinsic motivation, and a spanking is the ultimate example of someone else regulating someone else’s behavior via extrinsic motivation … See, you don’t get to have deep thoughts like that (or really just recall of your child psych classes) if you’re stuck on the fact the person you’re talking to has poopy pants, which I actually managed to stop thinking about during the Spanking Gordy Redux portion of our breakfast banter (which was, like so, so many of our discussions, way too serious to be accurately described as banter).

“I know,” he said, though I very seriously doubt if he did, at least the part about not getting in trouble for petty mistakes courtesy of being 20. Or maybe he knows in theory but just hasn’t applied it to himself in the real world. “I just …”

“C’mon, you can tell me,” I encouraged him. Coaxing words out of Gordy should be an event in the babysitter Olympics.

“It was stupid of me. I don’t like … I feel bad.”

“But … don’t.” Okay, so I know that wasn’t helpful. Even people like Gordy who are so good at following directions can’t just stop feeling their feelings because someone says to, and telling people to just stop feeling the way they feel is dismissive and unkind (I’m a gifted babysitter – as a group, we’re very big on feelings, validation, and kindness).

But before we even go there, can we marvel at Gordy’s sense of guilt? Religious leaders can only dream of instilling such an easily triggered and totally sincere sense of guilt in their flock. And not just that but how helpless Gordy apparently is in the face of it. He feels guilty and is so unable to process that emotion himself that he needs someone else to chastise him for it, to literally expiate the emotion through pain? Like, an actual penance?

I said what I said because while it only took me a split second to process and appreciate the implications of what he said, I had nothing to say other than, well, have you tried not feeling that way?

“I mean,” I said with no clue what wordsI was gonna say next, so I just … didn’t say anything after that. We brilliant babysitters have a wonderful way of making it seem like we’re never wrong footed and always know what to do, but the skill has its limits, apparently.

“No, you’re right. It’s stupid,” Gordy said in that tone he uses right before he shuts down on me.

“It’s not stupid.” He stood up to take his plate to the sink, completely ignoring me. “Sit your bottom down.” Okay, didn’t meant to say that and definitely not in my I’m-the-babysitter-do-what-I-say tone. Just a bit of panic on my part because I can’t stand the way he gets when he shuts down on me emotionally. I guess it’s not just that he shuts down but that he pushes me away. He hardly talks at all, won’t share his feelings, and even gets a little mean and short-tempered, all of which I hate for both our sakes. Frankly, Gordy’s emotional maturity overall kinda takes away any wonder that he’s so unequipped to deal with an emotion like guilt.

On the other hand, I really wish Gordy wasn’t the type of person who responds to being given firm directions. I was dismissive (how rude of me!). Did I embarrass him? Is he miffed at me? Fine! Commit to it, Gordy! Tell me off! Just don’t get all huffy and then swallow it down just cuz I gave you an order to sit back down. Have some spine!

But he did sit, and the momentary face he made told me that, no, he hadn’t known he was messy, but set that aside (also, he blushed – was he embarrassed by what he’d done or that he hadn’t known or by the possibility I knew? But set all that aside).

“I’m sorry,” I told him, “It was rude and dismissive of me to say that. Your feelings are valid, and I’d like you to tell me more about them.” Literally borrowing from a script out of an assignment in socio-emotional learning from one of my ed psych courses.

Gordy didn’t meet my eye as he replied, “I just … I feel bad about what I did.”

“I understand. Tell me what you normally do when you feel bad about something you’ve done.”

“I dunno. I …”

“You apologize,” I prompted him. He’s very good at that, and woah did I understand better just then how we became such an expert.

“Yeah. And I …” He wasn’t looking at me, but at least he was talking to me, or trying to. I’ll take uncertain, stammering Gordy over frosty near-silence Gordy any and every time.

“It’s hard to talk about these things. I understand,” I told him.

Did I mention I’m the best babysitter in town, the basis of which is a skill set I developed willingly because I enjoy it and that only a fraction of that skill set is psychology and that I’m not the best psychologist in town or any kind or quality of psychologist anywhere? It wasn’t even a big assignment! I had no clue where I was trying to take this conversation with Gordy or how to help him and was just about out of script. And anyway, how uncomfortable was Gordy talking to me like I’m a therapist? I’m not his or anyone’s therapist, nor do I want to be. I was just searching for a way past this episode to get back to our regularly scheduled weekend. Not that I wasn’t going to raise the prospect of Gordy seeing an actual therapist later …

And why did he even indulge my questions? O yeah – cuz I told him to and he does what I tell him to because … I dunno cuz why I’m not a psychologist! But I was sure by then if I wasn’t before that he needed one. We were way, way past what a friend can help another friend with.

“Do you make amends when you’ve done something you feel bad about,” I helpfully (lord, I hope so) suggested.

“Mhmm.”

“What else?” He shrugged. “Just those two things?” I asked as a double check that was it because those are literally the two things I (and I think every decent person most of the time) does when they feel bad about something. He’d already apologized. I was going to suggest he make it up to me by taking me some place. No. Such. Luck. (DAMMIT!)

“And I get punished.”

“But you shouldn’t be,” I said. A round of applause for me for saying it instead of taking the boy by his shoulders and shouting it while shaking all heck out of him. “Gordy?”

He just looked skeptical. “I know,” he said in a tone that wouldn’t fool even a novice babysitter. “But … it makes me feel better?”

He said it like a question, but it wasn’t. It made sense then. A horrible kind of sense, but sense nonetheless. I’d spanked him twice. The first time, he was embarrassed to the point of tears and not just because someone his own age was about to give him a spanking. It was because of what had happened that day – he’d been rejected and mocked by the first girl he ever screwed up the courage to ask out, and however justified he felt in calling her what he called her, he still felt bad about it, or at least about losing his temper. He cried so hard afterwards. And the second time, same deal. Maybe he did feel bad about lying to his stepmom, but I think he mostly just felt generically bad, down on himself, upset about his lot in life. He cried so, so hard after. I knew then that it wasn’t pain or embarrassment or guilt that made him cry so hard, but a feeling of catharsis.

What else could he mean about getting spanked making him feel better? I don’t think he even understood that. Maybe he really believed he deserved to be punished for whatever his stepmonster thought he did wrong, but it’s not like he hadn’t tried, not hard – like, at all – to get out of it before. He didn’t think he did anything wrong when he called that bitchy girl what he called her, and there really wasn’t much conviction in his voice when he agreed lying to his stepmom about the parade of catastrophic pull-up failures. I think he went along with it because, even though he didn’t know it, getting punished when he didn’t think he deserved it meant also getting punished when he did deserve it, and either way, he got the catharsis he needed out of it. It’s awful; how inaccessible to him are his own emotions that he needs to be treated that way just to feel better about stuff that most people wouldn’t even feel bad about? It made me wonder just how much hurt and maybe even anger Gordy must have inside. I guess I’d be angry too if I had his disability and knew everything would always be harder for him because of it. Gordy being so tightly wound, like he’s wearing an emotional straitjacket all the time, that’s a lot of hurt to get out, and he’d never found a more effective way. I mean, damn – the boy just needs a good cry and a pint of Hagen Dazs.

At least, that was my amateur diagnosis. Is it unhealthy? Not exactly, I don’t think. Not on its own. The lack of self-awareness about it, his inability to deal more forthrightly with his emotions, the emotions themselves (and their frequency and severity), and the twisted relationship with his stepmother – all very unhealthy, none of them within my power to solve in a long weekend or probably ever, and he wasn’t asking me to solve them. He was just asking, in his not-quite-articulated way, to help him feel better.

I got up and starting rinsing my plate. Whole other topic, but the mess making breakfast for two people creates is why delivery apps are a growth industry. Anyhoo, I rinsed and thought. I don’t like causing anyone pain. I don’t think of myself as a disciplinarian (kinky or otherwise). I do think of myself as a caregiver. Sometimes pain and tears are the price of feeling better. Like a shot (never taking a toddler I sit for to the doctor ever again no matter how much of a bind mom and dad are in; my ears are still ringing).

I wanted Gordy to feel better. More selfishly, being with Gordy when he’s in a bad mood is like being with someone experiencing PMS the first few times (I’m speaking from experience, i.e., holy damn was early adolescent me a garbage fire once a month). “Okay,” I said under my breath.

“What?”

“I said okay. I’ll give you a spanking. But not because you were naughty,” I said using a word I used totally by accident and that I don’t think I hardly ever use even when I’m sitting for especially naughty kiddos. “It isn’t a punishment, and it’s not a consequence. I’m only doing it to make you feel better.”

That’s when it dawned on me, the reason he doesn’t despise his stepmom. Whatever their individual and collective motivations, she makes him feel better. Whether they know it or not, and I don’t believe Gordy was even capable of that depth of self-awareness back then, that’s why he didn’t see her the way I did. So maybe she was evil; maybe she was dumb; maybe she knew exactly what was up and either didn’t know or didn’t care just how remarkably fucking unhealthy it all was.

Maybe the ritual was all part of it. The scolding, the timeouts, the making big deals out of things that to any normal 20-year-old and their stepmom are not big deals was part of it – making him feel that much worse so that when it was all over he’d feel that much better.

Or maybe I’m off on some Freudian tangent and it’s either much simpler or much more complicated than that. Maybe I’m just trying to make sense of this craziness by assigning a logic and intentionality to it that wasn’t actually there. Maybe she’s just nuts and he’s just messed up (I mean, he is anyway, but in a different way).

As an aside, it would be so much simpler – incredibly icky, but simpler – if it were just a sex thing. If only.

Gordy made this I’m-surprised -now-I’m-relieved-now-I’m-nervous-now-I’m-scared-what-was-I-thinking-I’m-so-stupid face. “Are you sure that’s what you want? Do you want me to give you a spanking?” I saw him swallow as he nodded. “I need you to say it.”

“Please … give me a spanking.” Okay, that was so not what I meant. I just wanted affirmative consent. A ‘yes’ would’ve sufficed, and just … I felt a little squicked, that’s all. If it were all coming from a healthy, kinky place, I think I would’ve been turned on by his response. Coming from where it came from, blech.

“Okay,” I said, “but because I’m not doing it as a punishment but because it will make you feel better, I want you to do something for me. Agreed?”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you after. Agreed?”

“Y-yeah.”

“And I have a couple questions first.”

“Are they part of the thing you want me to do?”

“No, sweetie. They’re just some things I want to know before we get started, and I need you to think hard about them and be honest with me. First question, and remember, think hard and be honest with me: do you get aroused from being spanked and treated like a naughty little kid?”

He shook his head no very quickly.

“You’re sure? It’s okay if you do.” Head shake. “What about from being spanked? Or at least the idea of it?”

“No.”

“If I come feel, I won’t find an erection in your diaper?”

“I’m being honest.”

“Can I come feel?” He made this what-is-even-happening face and nodded.

Wanna know a secret? I really wanted to find an erection in his diaper. I’d have been livid with him for lying to me and manipulating me into doing this, but I would’ve been relieved. If he had a fetish, fine; maybe more than fine since it’d be compatible with my own fetishes. More importantly, it would make sense! Joyous sense! He went along with all the craziness for a sexual thrill and he’s just a 20-year-old willing to be dishonest to get his jollies! Livid but relieved because it’s within at least a standard deviation of normal, so much better than the narrative I’d worked out (ya know, the one where he’s a product of trauma and needs intensive therapy to get right with himself, other people, and the world at large? Yeah, that narrative). So much riding on the rigidity of one penis (drumroll please ….)

Nope. He was soft. He was wearing two diapers and two stuffers and got quite the grope from me to make sure, but alas, soft.

“Do you understand why I had to ask, Gordy?”

“I … think so.”

“Boys do silly things for sex, and people enjoy all kinds of things. Sometimes they don’t even know they feel that way. I wouldn’t judge you for having a fetish. I just wanted to be sure this wasn’t that. Okay?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Next question, and I know this may sound a little weird and you may not know the answer, but please think about it: do we need to pretend this is a punishment?”

He titled his head at the question the way a confused puppy does. “I don’t … It’s always a punishment.”

Yeah, wasn’t surprised he didn’t know the answer. How would he? He just gets in trouble and then gets a punishment. How would he know if he needed the whole production in order to feel better or if he just needed a spanking and some tears?

“But this time it’s not,” I said. “Do you see what I mean? To feel better, do you just need a spanking, or do you need me to pretend like this is a real punishment? Does that make sense?”

“I … think so?” Goodness but he’s cute when he’s floundering. He clearly had no idea what was going on, or at least what I was getting at. Holding out the possibility I was the one talking crazy on amateur psychology safari, but it was all I had to go on.

“So what I’m going to do then,” I explained, “is pretend you’re really in trouble and make this like a real punishment. Like …” And hate myself a little for saying it, “Like your stepmom punishes you. But I want you to understand that you’re not really in trouble, okay?”

“O…kay.”

“Come here to me.” He got up and crinkled over, and I wrapped him in my biggest and best babysitter/friend/proto-gf hug, complete with a kiss to his temple. “Before we get started,” I said, “I just want to say that it makes me feel very special that you trust me with your feelings and needs. That really means a lot to me, and I know how hard and scary it is for you to do that.” Another kiss and a retightening of the hug.

And as a last second thought I added, “If this gets too intense, I want you to say ‘red light’, okay? If it starts making you feel worse instead of better, say ‘red light’, understand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good boy.”

“I’ll, um, go upstairs and …”

“What you’re going to do, little boy, is park yourself in the corner while I finish the dishes. You’re in timeout.”

“But I need to …”

“What you need to do is what I said and when you need to do it is right when I say it. I’ll change your poopy diaper after the dishes. You can wait five more minutes, and I want you to use that time to think about what you did.”

I turned him around, took his left wrist in my left hand, and delivered five rapid spanks to the seat of his full double diapers. No way he felt it, but the symbolism did the trick. He waddled to the corner of the kitchen and put his nose in it. He looked just like I found him the day his (deceitful) stepmother called me to babysit: doing corner time in his jammies, obviously diapered, waiting for his spanking.

If you ever need to explain to a skeptic just how much good intentions can make something way worse, well, this might be a prime example to call upon in the future.