The Beginning
This is a recollection of a daycare I attended. I was in elementary school at the time. My memories of this time are bits and pieces. They are turning into more feelings than actual memories. For the purposes of this retelling, I won’t be including real names and places to protect the innocent and maybe the guilty.
The daycare was run by a family. G was the owner and everyone called her G. F was either the daughter or the daughter-in-law. I can’t remember. The daycare was called Main Street Day Care even though it wasn’t on Main Street. I think at one time it had been on Main Street, then they moved.
My mom would drop my brother and me off on her way to work. F did not allow crying. If you cried, talked back or any way showed any kind of independence, you would get stood in the corner at best. Yelling and corporal punishment at worst. The weapon of choice was a belt. My brother would cry when mom dropped us off. I would beg him to please not cry because I knew I couldn’t save him. If I tried to step in or tell them not to do it, then I’d get it too. I learned very early on to go along with whatever F demanded. No emotion. Just comply.
My mother asked me years later why didn’t I tell them that we were hit with a belt? There are a lot of reasons and now that I am older they have changed. At the time, I was scared to tell. What If I told and it got back to F? I’m sure she would kill me. Those are great reasons, but now I also think who is going to believe a little kid? I also didn’t have any comparison to what daycare should be like. I guess I thought they were all like that.
The Meals
The meals at Main Street Daycare were served at long tables. We were given a plate of food and a drink. We could not touch the drink until all of the food was eaten. I want to say it was water, but it might have been Kool-Aid or something along those lines. The meals were another issue altogether. They served meals that most children would not eat. I know plenty of adults that wouldn’t eat the food that this place served. Again, I can’t say too much.
One day I wasn’t eating of course because of what was on my plate. F stood over me screaming at me. I knew for sure I was going to die. I think God heard my prayers because my parents walked in to pick me up early. I’m sure F acted differently around the parents than the kids. I don’t think they knew they interrupted her.
If you cleaned your plate, you could buy a drink out of the coke machine in the afternoon. (I’m from the South so everything is called coke). You had to provide the money though. Nothing was free. They had Peach Nehi. One particular day, they had something extremely nasty for lunch and I decided that I was going to get a Nehi.
After lunch, we were always sent outside to break up rocks or something, and I came up with a loophole. The plate had to be clean. They had no idea if I had consumed the food or not. I held it in my mouth until we went outside and spit it over the fence. Somebody must have seen me do it because I was smart enough to not brag about this master plan. I remember a bunch of kids standing around and me having to point it out. I honestly don’t remember what happened after that. I’m still alive, so I don’t think F was told.
The Later Years
Years later when I worked at Hardee’s F came in. I think I heard the ominous music playing in the background and the sky became dark. Interestingly enough, some other people I worked with also had attended Main Street Daycare. F saw me and the other girl and asked if we remembered her. Oh yes, we do. We were polite enough until she walked away. Then she and I reminisced about how horrible F was. I still occasionally see the kids that went there and their parents around town. My brother is in contact with them. It is bizarre to think I know people from that long ago.
Something came up recently about the daycare and Mom said maybe that’s why you are so tough. I am not emotional. Sometimes, I will show emotions, but other times I don’t. I’m stoic. When something unpleasant needs to be done, usually involving death or dying, I’m the one my family turns to. I think about my life and whether I have a calling or not. Call me crazy, but I feel that somehow I’m a healer, not a faith healer. Just listening, holding your hand, and knowing what to say. If money was no object and I had all the time in the world, I’d pursue it. Get a degree in counseling or ministry. I could see myself working at a hospice or a chaplaincy. Maybe going through all that prepared me for my life. Maybe it messed me up. Who’s to say? I’m sure I can’t.
I used to think about that building every time I drove by it. I don’t go that way much anymore. The daycare is long gone. Nothing seems to last in that building. You could theorize that the atmosphere was changed by the stuff that was done there. I think that could be it but also it is an old building in the old part of town in a bad location. If I had the money, I would buy it. I wouldn’t knock it down. I would use it for good. Fill the place with love and light. The only belts allowed would be to hold up pants.
This is the dark end of the spectrum so the next post will be about the lighter end.
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