My little sister is applying to work as a summer camp counselor after she finishes high school. I've been helping her fill out a ton of forms and organise her references, which got me to thinking about some of the babysitters I had growing up.
Both of our parents worked full time, so my brother, sisters and I have had our fair share of babysitters. During the school holidays, we were usually left with Enza, our next door neighbour. Enza was dull and responsible -- the type of person who made us wash our hands before eating lunch. One summer, Enza got accepted into the police academy and could no longer look after us, so mum decided to hire Katie, the teenager who lived across the road.
Katie was a student at a prestigious performing arts high school, into which she had been accepted on the basis of her acting and singing talents. Katie's brother, Peter, was a musician and had just recorded his first album: "Premature Ejaculation".
Katie's first idea for a summer project was to teach my sister and I the lyrics to all the songs of "Premature Ejaculation". If we learned all the words, Katie said, we might even be hired as backup singers if Peter ever went on tour. Feverish with the possibilities of stardom, my sister and I dutifully wrote the lyrics down in a notebook and religiously practiced singing them every night before bed. I guess my mum overheard us, or found the notebook, or one of us asked 'whats a premature ejaculation' at the dinner table, because one day Katie said we weren't allowed to rehearse Peter's music anymore.
She never had a shortage of fun ideas, though. One morning, Katie told us that we were going for a walk. On the way, she told us that an idea for performance art had appeared in her dreams and she wanted to try it out in public.
We wound up in the food court at Chatswood Chase, the local upscale shopping mall.
It was the school holidays and close to lunch, so the place was pretty crowded. Katie took her bag off and handed it to my sister to hold. Then, she got down on her knees and eased herself flat on the floor so that she lay face down, her nose touching the tiles. A few people stopped and stared, perhaps wondering if the girl was having some kind of seizure.
She lay very still for a few moments, and then, without warning, she launched into what can be best described as a stationary breaststroke. She worked her arms and legs simultaneously in careful coordinated movements, propelling herself through the imaginary water. She ducked her head up and down, as if coming up for air before submerging again.
As more people began to gather around and watch (and laugh), Katie moved through all the strokes. She did freestyle and butterfly and even doggy paddle before rolling over for a few laps of backstroke. She seemed oblivious to the reactions of the crowd, but remained focused on reaching some imaginary finish line.
My brother slunk away, hiding behind his comic book, but I made sure to stand close to Katie. I was nearly hit by her flailing limbs a couple of times, but I wanted to make sure that all bystanders knew that I was associated with this person. The attention was invigorating - not as intense as one might experience as a backup singer on the Premature Ejaculation tour, but intoxicating nonetheless.
Security came and told Katie to 'get out of the pool'. She obediently picked herself up off the food court floor, dusted herself off and my sister handed her back her bag.
Then we went home.
