A Foray Into the Life of a Babysitter

When I was a 6^th grader, about the only way to earn any spending money was to babysit because we didn't earn an 'allowance'. Having a younger sister and 2 younger brothers, I knew how to change a diaper—growing up in the country probably meant I knew how to work a little too—not a 'street walkin' city girl here! That's what parents tended to call the 'fast' girls that talked to boys on main street-- I probably didn't hear the word sl*t or wh*re until I was an 8^th grader --and it was one of those 'street walkers' that told the rest of us what that meant!

My 6^th grade summer, I watched 2 kids daily while the dad slept upstairs until 1:00pm, whereupon he growled downstairs, snarfed up Hamburger Helper or some type of leftover I was instructed to rewarm, and took off for work. No big talker there; don't even remember him acknowledging his children! It was terribly boring-- out in the middle of nowhere and no books in the house. Just magazines filled with smut stories. I didn't tell my mom this, but I think I learned or interpreted or imagined a lot that was entirely dissimilar to the birds/bees talk I was given!

That fall, I either babysat in town for 3 darling little boys whose beds were filled with pee stains, food, and roaches—the crawling kind; or for a toddler boy and his baby sister whose bottles lay strewn about the house filled with clabbered milk that almost made me vomit. Whichever family called first reserved me for a Friday or Saturday night—something going on at the Tavern most likely.

I tried to do the dishes at both places and always boiled dozens of bottles—poor kids. Roach Motel left 8-Track tapes all over so I listened to the Beatles, while Clabber House dad tried to lure me into his bedroom to look at a dirty magazine, pulling at my arm until I became frightened and he let go and left.

Later his wife called to reserve me for the next evening and I burst into tears: 'NO!' They got a return phone call after I told my mom what happened, but I guess back then nobody would of thought of turning the bastard in.

Then there was the beautiful Southern mansion home with the lovely white fluted columns, the gorgeous dark-eyed, dark-haired wife, the 2 sweet little girls, the dad who kept putting his hand up my thigh when he drove my home. For heaven's sake! Does stuff like this happen all the time?

Or the dad that left me have his car to take his kids to the swimming pool all summer—I would of been a freshman then—maybe he did that so he could 'see' his high school gal while we were splashing around and his wife worked her buns off all day long. Hmmm.

Or the couple that littered every room of their squalid rental with hard-core porn within full reach of their 3 youngsters. Glad they didn't have any prying questions when I moved it out of their reach!

But back then a candy bar cost a 15cents or a quarter, so earning $7 or $10 bucks was worth it. I guess.

Kind of opens your eyes to a darker aspect of life...