Adventures in Babysitting

I read somewhere the other day that the “going rate” for baby-sitting is now around $10 an hour. Or MORE. This is one of those interesting little sociological tidbits that has sneaked up on my 40-something-year-old self and slapped me in the face, forcing me to admit that there are actually generations of folks out there that are YOUNGER THAN I AM.

The first time this happened was with the craze for wearing your pants with the seat of them hovering just slightly above your knees. And then, of course, you ran around all the time trying to pull them up. I’d look at these kids and think, “Golly gee willickers, generation gaps ARE appalling things!”

Anyway, when *I* was younger and baby-sitting, I was lucky to get $10 for TWO NIGHTS of sitting, let alone one hour. And I had to walk 10 miles through the snow to where I was baby-sitting, yadda yadda yadda. I also heard that girls got more for some reason. When I asked my mom about the unfairness of this, she snorted and said something like, “Boo hoo hoo; talk to me again in 20 years when she’s getting 67 cents for each dollar you’re getting while both of you are pushing papers around a desk.” To which I would wittily reply, “Um, huh?”

I understand inflation. I understand baby-sitters being more appreciated these days (although I can’t think of exactly WHY that would be, but let’s leave it in as a space filler). I even will allow that today a baby-sitter faces different challenges. For example:

WHEN I WAS BABY-SITTING: “Are you sure your mom said you could eat Fritos and drink Hi-C and stay up past your bedtime to watch ‘Love, American Style’??”

A BABY-SITTER TODAY: “Are you sure your mom said you could drink all the scotch, smoke her dope, and stay up past your bedtime downloading dirty pics?”

However, keep in mind that these things would be of proportional scariness factor. Just as kids today are scared of being gunned down in their classrooms, kids of yore used to be equally afraid of monsters sneaking out from under their beds in the middle of the night and devouring them. Both equally frightening propositions, no?

Therefore, I will submit that baby-sitting “then” was just as full of hazards as baby-sitting “now.” For instance, how many of you former baby-sitters out there can remember each--or at least some--of the following:

1) The kids with the large pet/demon from Hell that did whatever they wanted. Of course the purpose of this animal was so the kids could then have YOU do whatever they wanted. I baby-sat a pair of kids, boy and girl, who had a giant schnauzer. And I mean a GIANT schnauzer. Up to that point, I thought the only kind of schnauzer that existed was like the little black one in Disney’s “Lady & the Tramp.” Now, this schnauzer did indeed look like little “Scottie” (or whatever his name was) but blown up to Japanese horror movie size. These kids would come in the kitchen with “Caesar” and say, “Mom says we can have twinkies AND Cap’n Crunch while we watch The Late Late Late Movie.” “Oh yeah?” I snap, whirling my head with a withering stare that lasts all the way up until the time I notice they are patting Caesar on the head. “Well, you can only have regular OR berry Cap’n Crunch with your twinkies, not both!”

2) The parents who say “Eat what you want from the fridge” only because they’ve taken the precaution of emptying it of anything good--all you'd find would be old apple butter, olive loaf, and a box of baking soda. But some parents actually MEANT it, and in THEIR refrigerators you’d find tofu, carrots and assorted other varieties of “nature’s candy,” soy milk, and any manner of things a younger person would rather be devoured by a giant dog by than eat.

3) The good kid/bad kid house where one child has a crush on you and the other one thinks you’re a monster from the pits of hell--or at least WISHES you were, so you’d be more fun. I’ll be sitting for little Johnnie and Katie and when I say, “Okay, kids it’s bedtime,” and tap on my watch, little Katie will smile beatifically at me and say, “Yes, David, will you tuck us in?” while little Johnnie is calling for Caesar.

4) The kids who are perfect angels while Mom & Dad are around, but once the parents are out the door, the kids are at each other’s throats. One time, while making a sandwich for little Tammy, her brother Duane had managed to herd up all of her Barbies, shave their heads and tattoo his initials onto each one of them with his woodburning set. “I wanted to play ‘Barbie in a War-Time Prison Camp,’” said Duane. So while I sat him down and explained the incorrectness of his deed (all the while praying for the speedy return of his parents so that I could STRONGLY suggest therapy), Tammy was getting her vengeance by tossing Duane’s pet goldfish out on the bedroom rug and giggling maniacally as Tabby played with them.

Coincidentally or not, this was the very last couple I sat for. I recall getting a couple of more requests, but generally from parents who had hellish children I already knew entirely too much about and refused to sit for.

Of course, back then, if they had offered me $10 an hour...