First Impressions: Notes from the Nanny (NFTN) #1

I bear no scars from being a nanny to others. I was exploited, but I wouldn't say abused, and there is no lasting trauma for me. What I saw happen to fellow domestic workers was worse. I want to be detailed about what my experiences were like, because some young girl thinking of being a nanny, or who is one already, could gain some insights. I also keep in mind that the children I was a nanny for, are now, for the most part, grown. If any of them were to come across what I write, I would be sorry for them to know how their parents were at times, but I will also be writing about them, the kids, and what I remember about their personalities, things they did and said, and observations I made, and I never had a problem with the children...well, I never blamed problems on them, that is.

I was 18 years old for my first nanny job. I had my choice of work because of extensive early experience, and very high recommendations. I worked as a favored babysitter in my local area, since I had been 11 (first job was for 2 year old twin boys), and I'd spent the last 2 years in high school as a 1st grade teacher's assistant (an elective). I had high marks from the teachers, especially in "control" of children. It was noted the children liked and respected me; they followed directions to please me, and missed me when I was gone.

I thought maybe I would go into early education. Everyone, literally, on my father's side, is an educator and it's in the blood. On my mother's side, there are many who ended up in science-related work, and on my father's side, there were music prodigies who were also university professors, English teachers, art teachers, and elementary school teachers. Also, I wanted to go to college and had always wanted to see New York City, and figured being a nanny was one way to get there. I had never been on a plane before. When my new employers found out, they were stunned, and flew me out first class on Continental.

I found the agency (Kid Gloves) through The Oregonian in the classifieds. When the woman, Joan, asked me what kind of family I wished to be placed with, I had one answer:
"Rich".
If I was going to be a nanny, I may as well do it in style. There was a contract, which I requested, and the expectation that I would stay at least one year. I spoke with the family over the phone, and that was it. I had no idea where Bedminster, New Jersey was, but I boarded the plane one week after graduation from high school.

In my imagination, New Jersey had no trees. Well, maybe a few stragglers, like the ones depicted in that Dr. Suess book about pollution. I didn't know what a turnpike was, but I heard NJ had them, and imagined they were made of concrete and metal. If there were any hills, they were turnpikes. I thought New York was all one big City and didn't know it had backcountry. I remember being near landing and seeing mountains of trees out the window. This was the first culture shock.

I was picked up at the airport by the mother and her children, all three--ages 2, 4, and 7. The children were darling and shy. The mother, Lisa, was a young (30 yrs. old) pretty brunette and she said I looked different from the photo I had sent (which gave me a homely hippie image). Because I was also pretty, I wondered if this was going to be a problem. Most mothers like their nannies fat, ugly, or with horrendous skin conditions. When you're living in the same house as their husbands, they take the adage that "prevention is better than cure" very seriously.

I believe she was driving a Mercedes station wagon but it could have been a Volvo, I don't remember. My first impression, once on the road, was that everyone on the East Coast drove brand new luxury foreign automobiles. Lisa asked what kind of pie I liked. I said, "Oh I like all kinds: cherry, strawberry-rhubarb--" Lisa laughed out loud and said, no, that she meant for dinner. I thought it odd she was serving pie for dinner, and repeated cherry was fine with me, and then she explained a "pie" was pizza. So she ordered pizza, which was thin and greasy and stacked or folded over, in half. Even pizza out there was different. Pizza in Oregon, had a thicker, doughy crust. I had been out of state, but mainly to camp, and couldn't remember much about travels to Canada. The East Coast was another country.

When she turned into a long, tree-lined driveway, with a low stone wall at the edge, I was so happy and relieved about the landscape--that it was beautiful! There were no neighbors--it was in the country. The house was not like any house I'd ever seen in the NW. This was an old, 1920s (?) brick/stone mansion covered in Ivy, with a cobblestone driveway, a mature English garden on all sides, and the river that they had mentioned to me over the phone (to someone familiar with the Pacific NW, the East coast "mountains" look like hills and the rivers, like creeks, but they're still pretty).

I was given the smallest room in the house, directly at the top of the stairs where everyone passed by, which was the only room with bars on the windows (to keep the nanny IN, I guess). It was smaller than my room at home, just a little closet (in a house over 5,000 sq. ft with other vacant rooms), but it had a good view, and I liked the wallpaper and bedcover (dark green with pink-salmon paisley). I began to unpack as it grew dark and then froze in disbelief. Someone was out in the woods, pointing a flashlight in my direction! I wondered who the peeping Tom could be and then saw more than one light, and thought there was a group of prowlers...finally realizing they were lightening bugs. I hadn't ever thought of such a thing--except in books about fairies.
I had to see them up close; I went out almost immediately, and Philip and Christie ran out with me, with their glass jars for collecting the bugs.