If it were like any other weekday over the last two years, I would be making a mad dash for the finish line, with the finish line referring to having two dressed, fed, and freshly diapered little girls so that they could start their day with their stand-in mom. But, alas, this arrangement, like all good things, was at an end. How can I fully thank the person who mothered my children as if they were her own? I suppose letting everyone know about her is a start.

Amy C-Lemons. Photograph provided by the author.

It all started back in 2008. We had spent several LONG days interviewing potential nannies. Most of the people who responded to our posts were older and seemingly strict—sort of the super-nanny wannabe type. Although these women had pages of references and master’s degrees in early childhood education, their personality types just didn’t seem to fit our parenting philosophy and approach. But, when Amy showed up, it was like a ton of bricks had been lifted from our shoulders. We knew at once that she was the missing piece of our childcare jigsaw puzzle. Unlike the other interviewees, Amy made immediate eye contact with our then 18-month-old daughter Gwen and proceeded to put Gwen on her lap and engage her in conversation. The fact that our toddler had absolutely no hesitation in interacting with Amy was a critical factor in our subsequent decision. Unbeknownst to Amy, she had just taken the ultimate test and passed it with flying colors. We would do whatever it took to have her sign on with us, but this was a business relationship after all, so we started with a reasonable offer. Thankfully, she agreed. Thus began a very exciting ride with Amy Clemons, who had introduced herself to me that day as Amy C to the lemons.

At first Amy and I had a very professional relationship. Even though we talked and joked around here and there, it was only for about 10-15 minutes during the morning. Clearly, this was not enough time to forge a real relationship. Additionally, I think she wasn’t sure how much she should share with me, her employer, and, in turn, I wasn’t sure how much I should share with her. Would she judge me for the occasional expletive? Could she tell me about the party she attended on Saturday night? It didn’t take long for the line to grey though. I would say that the employee/employer relationship was overtaken by friendship with the start of the 2008 presidential election. It was at that time that I began to learn about the real Amy Clemons.

It was quite apparent that we were on the same political team. I was rooting for Barack Obama because I truly believed that he was the one who was going to implement change, change for the better. Although Amy believed in a similar political policy, her connection with the now president runs much deeper. Like President Obama, Amy is also half white and half black and was raised solely by her white mother. Born in Galveston, Texas, Amy was raised in a loving and nurturing environment despite the obvious hurdles that come with a single parent household. However, the fact that Amy looked so much different from her mother and much older half-brothers was always in the back of her mind. It was strange for Amy to resemble someone that she did not know—she inherited so many of her traits from her father, including very thick and curly hair. She recalls her mother trying to tame her hair for years. Amy would sit every night while her mother tried to figure out what to do with it. It would always end up becoming a frizzy mess, big and fluffy. But, at age 8, Amy took matters into her own hands and learned how to do her own hair. She has described this day to me as being one of the most liberating experiences of her life!

She always knew she looked different but as time went on, Amy began to question why this was the case. For a long time, she was convinced that she was adopted—she would always say to her mom “just tell me the truth!” and her mother would try to assure her that Amy did indeed come from her womb. Looking different at home was one thing, but looking different at school was another. Amy didn’t quite fit in at her predominantly black middle school. She would get teased about her light skin and long, curly hybrid hair. And, one day when she was talking with a few of her friends on the school bus, another little girl walked up to her and told her in a loud voice, “Your mama better teach you some slang!” It was at this point that she started to understand how difficult it was going to be for her to identify with a particular race.

Teasing notwithstanding, Amy pulled good grades. As a result, she was able to test into an excellent high school; however, the demographic of this school was the polar opposite of her middle school—the student body was predominantly white. As one might expect from our society, especially with the “Mean Girls” cliques found in almost every American high school, she did not escape the consequences of her looks. Although she made friends, the parents were clearly aware of her biracial background. For example, Amy was not accepted by the parents of her first boyfriend, who was of African American decent, because she wasn’t “black enough.” But, it didn’t stop there, the parents of her second boyfriend, a white boy, didn’t like her either. It was a lose-lose situation. This certainly added to her confusion, but it didn’t bring her down. With an inherent happy-go-lucky attitude, Amy moved on.

After graduating high school, she attended Southwestern College near Georgetown, Texas for a mere two weeks before deciding that she was in over her head. Although she got good grades in high school and was a well-rounded student, she was convinced that the only reason she was accepted to this college was because she was able to check off the “black” box under the race category. As a result, she decided to pack up her things and move to New York. Amy, who has an angelic voice and had always participated in her school’s theatre productions, decided to audition for entry into the American Musical and Dramatic Academy in New York City. Her admission was near instantaneous. Thus she was on a new path—a path to live out her dreams. With most new beginnings, there was a huge element of exhilaration. Not only was she living away from her family, she was doing it in NYC! Her classes were fresh and her new friends were exciting. But, as time ticked, Amy was faced with the harsh reality of trying to “make it” in New York. Her daily auditioning schedule was grueling and the drain on her pocket book was devastating. Because of her looks, Amy was limited in terms of which role she could go for. She could never be the ingénue; she would always have to go for roles written for minorities. Luckily, her light skin allowed her to pass for several races and did open up some doors. However, she still was not having much luck and had to make a major decision: act or eat.

Having had experience working at a preschool in Austin, Amy began to work at New York Kids Club on the Upper West Side. With her bills mounting, her need to work was starting to overshadow her desire to audition. Finally, the day came when she had to pull out of school and stop auditioning altogether. Life was confusing. She didn’t know where to go or what she was going to do with her future, a future that obviously did not involve any Tony awards. Her worries about her life and career came to a drastic halt as Amy was forced into a tragedy. In 2008, Hurricane Ike swept through Galveston, clearing everything in its path. Sure Amy had a few things that she had collected in New York but her home base and everything that was tangible had been destroyed. Her childhood was literally under water causing her emotions to dive into a tailspin. She had to fly back to Galveston to help her mom, her rock, figure it out. While everything was being assessed, her mom had to stay with friends. It made no sense for Amy to stay so she decided to come back to NYC. And boy were we lucky that she did.

Several days after she came back from Texas, Amy responded to our ad for a nanny position. She was with my family for almost two years, including my entire second pregnancy. My kids are now almost three and one years of age. Being a full time working mom has really worn me down at times, and Amy has always been there to help me recharge. She has also taught me so many valuable lessons on being a good parent, even though she is not a parent herself. I have been so blessed to have had her in my life as she provided my children with genuine tender loving care. Neighbors and friends who have watched Amy in action have approached me telling me how well she takes care of the girls—how she gets right in that sandbox or leads a train of toddlers in song. But, Amy is not what I call a “lifer.” She is ready to move on with her life and her career. It’s time for her to start caring for herself and I support her in doing so. In short, I am thankful for the time we have spent together. Amy C-Lemons and I hope we continue to share our life experiences, no matter where we are. After all, we have no excuse considering we live in the era of Skype.