When I was 16, my family moved to Sylmar. Darlene, a neighbor, noticed my sister Elaine and me in our front yard. She walked down the street and asked, “Do you babysit?” I said yes. She had three girls.
I told another neighbor, Susie, about the babysitting job. Her sister Marian came out and said, “Don’t babysit her kids; she’s got a retarded child.” I said, “I don’t care. I’m up for challenges.” Darlene was desperate for help; she was a waitress. Overworked and underpaid. Neither Darlene nor her husband Hal accepted their youngest girl, Anna, nine months old and so she was neglected for some reason. They left her in bed with bottle propped up and let her poop her pants and spread it around. Anna had a habit of staring straight into your eyes, unnervingly.
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