Child Care Observation

As the child of immigrants coming from an island where social structure is strict and gender plays a big role in determining what a child does and grows up to be, I spent a lot of my childhood looking after others. As a female I followed what my mother did, and what her mother spent her days doing before her. This passing of tradition meant getting up before the men did, to prepare myself and make sure I looked presentable, braids done and skirt dirt and wrinkle free. Then I would hurry to the kitchen to help prepare breakfast, as breakfast would always be set on the table strictly at 9 a.m.. Then chores would be done in between lunch and dinner- the mopping of the floors, picking through and cleaning of grains, and putting recently hand washed clothes on the clothing lines that were always a bit too high for my reach. These were not the most enjoyable

tasks but they had to be done.

The only task I could find myself pushing myself to be prepared to do with the utmost care was looking after those younger than me. There was a satisfaction in looking over those smaller than you, unaware of how to take care of themselves that I was only acutely aware of. Feeding, washing, making sure they are happy and smiling, and most importantly constantly learning and exploring is a joy most only first experience when they have their own child. But the older sisters and cousins were the ones in charge where I grew up, and I know how endearing and indebt I am to those who cared after me when I was unable to watch over myself.
These times only took up a portion of my childhood, from a few weeks after I was born and taken on a plane to the Dominican Republic to grow up among my familiars, to around five

years old. Then it was back to the United States where I would be thrown into a new environment, one without many friends or siblings, and too much free time on my hands. It would not be until I was eight years old that I would be able to feel the warmth of a sibling again, when my younger brother Daniel was born. I remember being confused when I saw the ultrasound pictures and silently crying in the backseat of the car on our way home because I had adjusted to a life alone and would now be threatened with getting the attention from my parents taken away from me, a selfish viewpoint I like to think I developed after watching too many shows and movies with a similar story line. But after Daniel was brought home and put into my arms I felt the beautiful familiarity of holding a small child in your arms, and seemingly protecting them from the world, and I fell in love with the idea of being a big sister again. I moved back into the rhythm, relearning how to wash a child, and prepare their formula, and how to be patient enough to learn what ticks them off and what makes them smile. At two years old Daniel was diagnosed with Autism, and it seemed like I had done something wrong. I felt as if now the child who could not communicate or form relationships easily, and had the oddest repetitive behaviours was the perfect baby who I somehow broke. Only through attending therapy and mental health sessions with him would I learn that he was not broken but born as all babies are born, with their own strengths and weaknesses.
Resuming the role as a protective sister would translate as a role in teaching and leading other children in a youth learning center in my own community at my current age of fifteen. Here I would be introduced to children of all ages, some brilliant with shining personalities and others reserved. My main job would be homework help which is difficult when you are only trying to instill a concept so the child can think independently on how to apply it. I would be put to the test when children only six or seven years old reminding me so much of the children I cared for before, would be close to tears when they could not understand a concept or found it too difficult to complete on their own. I would be repaid tenfold however when I got to see the smile on a third grade student's face when he finally understood the steps to regrouping and bravely stated he would no longer need my help. I could barely hold my laughter and happiness in the day following an afternoon spent with flashcards and vocab writing with a student who mixed up their vowels triumphantly running up to me and saying they earned a hundred on a spelling test, and continued to hand me a thank you note with a hand drawn flower on it, my name above it spelled, ‘Maryah’.
I often think of those early mornings in the past where I would play the role of caretaker when I am asked why I am pursuing the medical field. The satisfaction I feel from helping those younger than me could be related to my upbringing in the Dominican Republic, or rather learning how to take care of my younger brother in the U.S., but I know that this satisfaction will push me from my role helping students with their studies, to helping children and their families in hospitals with the title of nurse in the future.