[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]
When my sister and I were very small and Mom was at work, we were watched by a daycare provider named Mona. Mona was ancient, so probably much younger than I am now. She was also sweet, patient, and good with children. We loved her.
Mona had a large backyard across the street from a fire station. Very exciting! She left us mostly to ourselves, which is a great gift to give a child. I still remember picking clover, putting it in an empty can with a trapped bee, and waiting for it to transform into honey.
What “educational enrichment activity” could top that?
Mona fried donuts in a giant kettle of boiling oil; none tasted better. She had an aluminum Christmas tree illuminated by a rotating wheel of colors. Enchanting!
Her only flaw was that she was an Andy Williams fan who hated the Beatles, so because we loved Mona we hated the Beatles, too.
One morning, when my sister and I decided to run away from home, we wrapped up our most precious possessions and tied them to sticks, like little cartoon hobos, and headed toward Mona’s. Unlike our awful mother, Mona would surely love and cherish us! We might have made it if Mom hadn’t caught up to us two blocks from home, too relieved to spank but too angry to hug.
I hope Mona knew how important she was to at least two of her charges, and that they’d remember her so fondly many decades later.
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