I babysat David Duchovny. I knew him when. The time was the late 1960s. The place was an apartment in New York City. It was summer, a hot time in the city. The back of my neck was getting dirty and gritty. David was a very intense, serious and precocious child, but had his light moments.
He could be a challenge, my little charge. Not content to just watch cartoons, he enjoyed discussing philosophy. Not content to just eat cereal, he had to have gourmet deli. Not content to just play Monopoly, he insisted upon chess.
David got bored easily. He mocked Sesame Street. He whined and quoted Nietzsche and Kant.
"God is deeeaaad!"
"I believe in Freeeee Wiiiiilllll!"
"Existentialism makes me nervous!!"
"Hey. I think that someone needs a nap," I would have to remind him.
"Oh . . . okaaaay." He would respond.
Not content with my stories, he would read himself to sleep. He had his mischevious moments, and liked to pull pranks. He would order pizza for the entire local police precinct. He would call bars and ask "Do you have Prince Albert in the can?!" Eventually I had to unplug and hide all of the phones. He just built new ones, using things that he had around the house. "But mom said I could!" He would slyly claim, of his potential outrageous activities. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I perkily asked him one day. "Oh . . . I don't know! Now please don't ask me these worrisome questions. I have enough pressure!" He responded.
Occasionally he would give me deeply meaningful looks, becoming pensive and contemplative, before asking various questions. "What do girls wear under their clothes?" He asked one day. "Silly. We wear underwear. It's just a little different than boys' underwear, that's all. Of course, you must consider that not all people wear underwear. People are different. Their behavior is different." I believed in being frank, as did his mother. "Oh." He seemed to ponder this.
Our sessions would come to an end when his mother got home from work. He and I would say our goodbyes.
"Bye for now, David. Give me a hug?" I would ask. I would try to kiss his cheek.
"Eeeeeeewwww . . . don't do that please!" He would remind me.
"Oh. I'm sorry. Truly, I don't mean to invade your personal space."
"Oh . . . okaaaay. But could you tickle me like last time?!"
I always had a feeling about David. I knew that he would go places. But little did I know that I would end up watching him on TV every Sunday night.
I knew him when.
~Dont Ax Me Why~
~Did Not Actually Babysit David Duchovny~
Submitted By: AF Waddell
Aug 26, 2000 07:00