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"Hiring Alex* to babysit my two little boys seemed like a brilliant idea. The 16-year-old son of a woman I worked with, he looked like a stunt double for Brad Pitt in Thelma &amp;amp;amp; Louise. As soon as he walked through the door, my husband, Chris, and I took to him. And a male babysitter, I figured, could handle the high-octane energy of Charlie, then eight, and David, two and a half. It became a ritual for Alex to come over on Saturday night. My boys loved it. Pizza, TV, a cool guy who&amp;#039;ll let us stay up late! Chris and I always chatted with Alex and were impressed by how polite and well-spoken he was. And knowing about Alex&amp;#039;s difficult life at home \u2014 his mother, Susan, had shared stories about her ongoing train wreck of a divorce from Alex&amp;#039;s father \u2014 made us feel even better about hiring him. One night when my parents were visiting, we went out to dinner while the kids stayed home with Alex. We&amp;#039;d all planned to go to a movie afterward, but at the last minute, my mom and dad begged off and returned to our house. When Chris and I got back later that evening, my mother took me aside. &amp;quot;Honey,&amp;quot; she said, &amp;quot;when we got here, the kids were in the bedroom with that boy, and all three of them had their shirts off. He said he was giving them massages and seemed startled to see us. I don&amp;#039;t know, but it doesn&amp;#039;t seem right. You hear such terrible stuff these days about what goes on.&amp;quot; I was furious. What was she implying? That I didn&amp;#039;t know what kind of babysitter to hire? That I wasn&amp;#039;t a good mommy? That I&amp;#039;d invited a pervert into our home? &amp;quot;Don&amp;#039;t be silly,&amp;quot; I said in what I am sure was a dismissive tone. &amp;quot;Everything&amp;#039;s OK.&amp;quot; But it wasn&amp;#039;t. A few weeks later, I was trying to encourage David to use his potty-chair. &amp;quot;Mommy, see my penis?&amp;quot; he said happily. &amp;quot;It gets little and big just like Alex&amp;#039;s.&amp;quot; I looked at my innocent toddler \u2014 the kind of beautiful child absolutely everyone wanted to cuddle and hug. &amp;quot;David, sweetie, what did you say?&amp;quot; My little boy repeated the words. I quickly put a fresh diaper on him and raced out of the bathroom to find my husband. Together, we talked to David. &amp;quot;When did you see Alex&amp;#039;s penis?&amp;quot; I asked, trying to sound casual. Perhaps David had simply barged in on Alex while he was peeing. &amp;quot;He asked me to touch it.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Did anything else happen?&amp;quot; my husband said. &amp;quot;He had me lick it.&amp;quot; Barely breathing, Chris and I put David to bed. Then we turned our attention to Charlie. &amp;quot;Did anything, uh, strange happen when Alex took care of you?&amp;quot; I asked. &amp;quot;What do you mean, strange?&amp;quot; he said, not looking me in the eye. Charlie was in third grade. He&amp;#039;d been drilled by his teachers and by us about &amp;quot;inappropriate behavior.&amp;quot; We told him what his brother had said. &amp;quot;Did anything like that happen to you?&amp;quot; Charlie&amp;#039;s first reaction was to be completely grossed out; then, in the way kids have of shutting down just when you want them to talk, he suddenly had nothing to say. Still, he did allow that Alex seemed &amp;quot;weird.&amp;quot; Our babysitter apparently preferred to hang out with David in the boys&amp;#039; bedroom while Charlie watched TV in the downstairs den. It never crossed my mind to call the police. But I knew I had to find a doctor for David \u2014 and possibly for all of us \u2014 immediately. My first instinct was to talk to my boss. She was not just a sympathetic soul \u2014 a mom with two young children \u2014 but the wife of a doctor at a prominent hospital. Her calm manner comforted me when I told her what had happened, and she agreed to limit my contact with Susan as much as possible. By the following day, my boss had found the name of a clinical psychologist, whom I&amp;#039;ll call Dr. Green, who specialized in treating very young, barely verbal patients. Dr. Green quickly established that Charlie hadn&amp;#039;t been around when the actual sexual abuse occurred; further sessions with him wouldn&amp;#039;t be necessary. David, though, would need continuing attention through play therapy. Dr. Green also told me he wanted to meet with Alex, saying that the boy needed treatment &amp;quot;while there&amp;#039;s still time to get him back on track.&amp;quot; And the doctor insisted that I tell Susan what her child had done to mine. I dreaded the conversation, but it would have been irresponsible not to have it. If I didn&amp;#039;t, how many other kids might Alex go on to abuse? I&amp;#039;d been coached: Repeat, word for word, what David had told us, then ask Susan to call Dr. Green. Not surprisingly, Susan reacted with indignant denial. &amp;quot;David must have made it up!&amp;quot; she hissed. &amp;quot;Alex would never, ever do anything like this. Get out of my sight.&amp;quot; Trying hard to stay composed, I handed her the doctor&amp;#039;s number. Then I returned to my office, shut the door, and started to sob. To her enormous credit, Susan made the call. I don&amp;#039;t know where she found the guts, but she set up an appointment with Dr. Green. At work, she and I avoided each other. During every moment with David, I was like a detective, on guard for any sign that he&amp;#039;d been harmed, that irrevocable damage had been done. He struck me as somewhat clingier than usual \u2014 and he couldn&amp;#039;t have been less interested in toilet training. Otherwise, he seemed like his same, adorable self. The doctor&amp;#039;s appointments continued uneventfully. Until one day. As Dr. Green explained it afterward, while playing with the anatomically correct dolls in the office, David got furious and hurled a male doll across the room. At that point, he and Dr. Green were finally able to talk about what had happened (with some limitations, of course, considering David&amp;#039;s age). After two more appointments, the doctor said that as far as he knew, there had been no attempt at penetration \u2014 confirming our pediatrician&amp;#039;s opinion \u2014 and no more treatment would be necessary. &amp;quot;When he&amp;#039;s older, can problems develop from this?&amp;quot; I asked. &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s highly unlikely, now that he&amp;#039;s been treated,&amp;quot; the doctor said. &amp;quot;The memory won&amp;#039;t be erased, but it will be buried.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;When David&amp;#039;s older, should we tell him what happened?&amp;quot; was my second question. &amp;quot;No,&amp;quot; he advised. &amp;quot;It will only be confusing and upsetting.&amp;quot; We never saw Alex again, but we heard from him a few months later. He wrote us a rambling letter filled with apologies: Dr. Green, he said, had encouraged him to put down on paper what he couldn&amp;#039;t say out loud. He admitted everything and begged for forgiveness. As we read the letter, my husband and I wept; when we were done, I crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash. We had no desire to relive the experience by rereading the letter, and we didn&amp;#039;t care to write back. Our lives drifted slowly back to normal. My husband and I each worked out our own feelings about what had happened, and eventually, we didn&amp;#039;t need to talk about it anymore. Neither of our sons has ever shown any sign that he remembers the incident. Susan enrolled Alex in boarding school. She quit her job and moved away. It&amp;#039;s been over 15 years since all this happened, and David, I&amp;#039;m happy to say, has grown into a handsome and charming young man \u2014 athletic, talented, a good student. From all I can tell, he is completely normal. He&amp;#039;s had a few girlfriends, though he doesn&amp;#039;t share many details about his relationships. When I get too nosy, he says with a smile, &amp;quot;I release that information on a need-to-know basis, and you have no need to know.&amp;quot; I had worried that I might become a clingy mom, too protective of David and Charlie. But that didn&amp;#039;t happen. What I did become is a mother fiercely proud of her resourceful, independent sons. Whenever I read stories about kids abused by pedophiles, I realize how easily things could have turned out differently.  Babysitters: What Parents Need to Know Q. How can I be sure I&amp;#039;m hiring a good babysitter? A. Take your time to find one: Get the names of possible sitters from people you know, and check other references. Invite the sitter to your house and watch how she and your child interact. Then remind her that she&amp;#039;ll be responsible for your child&amp;#039;s life. &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s critical that whoever is going to take care of the child understand that,&amp;quot; says Patricia Keener, M.D., the founder of Safe Sitter, a program that teaches babysitting skills. Q. Is it riskier to hire a male babysitter? A. Yes, as far as sexual abuse is concerned, because 77%&amp;amp;nbsp;of reported sexual assaults by babysitters are committed by males. Pay special attention to teenage boys: Nearly half of babysitter sex offenders are younger than 18.  Q. Does that mean it&amp;#039;s safer to hire a girl? A. Not necessarily. Females commit 64% of the reported physical assaults \u2014 hitting, slapping \u2014 against kids by babysitters. But keep in mind that of all assaults, sexual or physical, against children, more than 90% are committed by family members or acquaintances \u2014 not by babysitters. Q. What&amp;#039;s the deal with nanny cams? A. You can hide these small, wireless cameras in a room and, from any computer, monitor the images they&amp;#039;re sending. The cameras cost around $200 each and are legal in all 50 states (though be aware that in 15 states, you can&amp;#039;t record someone&amp;#039;s speech without her knowledge). You can also rent them; one site to try is knowyournanny.com, where cameras cost about $50 each for a seven-day rental.  Q. What else can I do to check up on my sitter?  A. Every once in a while, make unannounced visits. &amp;quot;Go back and say, &amp;#039;I forgot something&amp;#039; or &amp;#039;I have a headache,&amp;#039;&amp;quot; suggests Dr. Keener. And, at all times, the best thing you can do is trust your instincts. If you sense that something is wrong, don&amp;#039;t talk yourself out of it. Get to the bottom of the problem.  This article originally appeared in the June 2006 issue of Good Housekeeping. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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