Dorothy Lyons

A few years ago I realized that I have the uncanny ability to remember almost everything that has ever happened to me. I mean, of course I don’t remember my birth and the preliminary years that followed, but I remember everything since age 4. In fact, I can remember the exact moment when this memory began. And, I remember somehow knowing that it would be the first memory I would have. As bizarre as that may seem to most, I can describe it ever so vividly. I can tell you exactly what I was doing when my conscious mind took hold.  I was crawling on the fluffy, dark brown carpet behind the living room chairs. The first was a wooden rocker, and the next was my babysitters’ (Dorothy Lyons) favorite chair, a dark blue recliner that she always kept covered with a manila colored wool blanket.

Dorothy (Dot) was like an evil enforcer that children couldn’t avoid. Parents brought their children to her home on their way to work and picked them up on their way home. She always had 4-5 different children under her care at any given time, and she treated them all like complete garbage. I am being completely honest and speaking beyond any bias on this point, which will become apparent further on. She would degrade all the kids constantly, hit them, and boss them around like slaves. All the kids were deathly afraid of her for several reasons. First of all, she was a gigantic figure compared to us children. Dot was in her early 60’s, but she was a plump 5”7 and about 240lbs. Another of her most terrifying characteristics was her ability to put the fear of god into you by screaming at you. But the worst part by far, was her ability to convert into a complete sweetheart the moment adults would arrive to pick up their kids. I’m 110% positive that every single child under her care would tell their parents horror stories as soon as they walked out that door. Even today it reminds me of the concept of monsters under the bed, except this monster really existed and was unavoidable. Often times children tell their parents about monsters under the bed, but the parents know better. And I can guarantee the parents shrugged off their kid’s stories the moment they heard them. Well, that is if they even listened to their kids at all. Because not only would the parents bring their kids back the next day, but they paid this woman weekly to abuse their children. The woman was ruthless. And the funny part was, if your parents did listen and they ever questioned her about any incident, she would fuck you up extra that day. Any black and blue marks were always written off to normal children playing and “falling”. Everybody was always on edge and walking on egg shells around this woman. Talking back to her was something that simply did not happen. I was petrified of this woman and had nightmares about her even, as I’m sure all children did. I was petrified that is, until one fateful day.

I can’t remember exactly what happened, but she was chasing me down to fuck me up with a wooden spoon. She had broken wooden spoons over the backside of a child on more than one occasion. And I continued to run, when I got into the front room with nowhere else to run I fell down on my back and put my legs up like a coward. And as she leaned over to hit me, I kicked her in the shin really hard. I wasn’t trying to hurt her; it was just a scared instinct that happened out of pure fear. And this seemed to infuriate her even more, and that just scared me even more. And so I kicked again, and again, and again. And every time she got more and more angry and kept trying to grab me by the hair, as she often did to kids. But every time she tried I just kept kicking, harder and harder. Suddenly I began to kick as hard and as fast as I could at her shins and she screamed at me louder and louder. In the human instinct fight or flight, I was tuned into this fight until death. And as this continued I didn’t feel anything, I just kept landing kicks as hard as I could until finally it stopped. Dot fell down, first onto a knee and finally onto her back and began to sob. I was already soaked in tears and begging her not to hurt me. I couldn’t believe she was crying, and I didn’t know what to do. I looked at the other kids and they all had their jaws on the floor in disbelief as she lay their sobbing.   Eventually she got back onto her feet and went to the freezer and got ice which she put on her legs. I was on edge for the rest on the day waiting for the proverbially piano to fall on me…..but to my surprise, it never happened.

 From that day on, my experience at my babysitters under went a gigantic change.  While I still expected a brutal retaliation, it never came. And from that day forward, she never touched or challenged me ever again. For weeks she had long, dark bruises on her shins. And because she always wore dresses, I seen those deep purple marks and even felt bad at times. And although she never tried to hurt me again, she still continued her abuse of the other children, including my older brother. It was as if I had somehow obtained immunity. The fact that she beat up the other kids never mattered to me. In fact, I began to bully all of the other kids too when I was there, including my older brother. Dot and I became very close friends after this incident; it was as if she actually respected me for fighting back. From that day forward, I walked around that day care like a corrections officer. She treated me like gold, and I loved her for it. And while all the other kids were petrified of her, I was comfortable. I would go through her refrigerator and cupboards and take what ever I wanted. Eating in the living room was strictly prohibited, but I ate graham crackers on the couch. In fact, she only lived around the corner from us, so I would stop by all the time and just take ice cream out of the freezer and hang out with her on the porch. Sometimes on the weekends I would stay over night and she wouldn’t even charge my mom. And every single night I stayed she would order me pizza. Dot and I became best friends, and I loved her more than anything because she treated me like her own son, she treated me like an equal. I loved just hanging out with her and watching television. Her husband Bill had died several years before, and often times she would just burst out into tears. She would scream out to god how much she missed him and to take her to see him. I had only gone to day care with her until I was 8, but I would still go over and see her all the time. During the summer months she would sit out of her porch all afternoon during the summer months drinking lemonade and tea. I often joined her, we were best friends.

One day when I was 12, my mom picked me up from school. She told me that Dot had passed away. I hadn’t seen her on the porch for a while. I can’t explain how, but I didn’t cry. Later that day I locked myself my room and balled for an hour. After that, I never cried about it again.

It was not until I got older that I understood what had happened. She had stopped abusing me because I stood up to her. Even though I had only fought back out of sheer fear/instinct, she respected my courage. And this was a lesson that I took with me from there on out. A lot of bully’s are all bark no bite. Some people prey on those who are too afraid to stand up for themselves. This ended up being a lesson that has stuck with me. And not only have I continued to stand up for myself, but I also stand up for those who are afraid to do so. And this is something that will never ever change.