In 1993, babysitting was the only real work experience I had. I frequently sat for one family in particular. They were a very nice family. But as a 16-year-old who didn’t really enjoy playing with kids, nor felt a strong desire to repeatedly push someone on a swing outside in July with 89% humidity, I felt like it was most likely a temporary situation. 

Which was a big bummer, because just a few years earlier, I’d devoured every book in the Babysitters Club series. They made it sound so exciting! So glamorous! So fun!! 

In reality, I was a decent babysitter. But certainly not worthy of being in the Babysitters Club. Sure, I showed up on time. I played with the kids and made snacks. I made sure they were in bed at the agreed upon time. 

But I didn’t go over the top. I didn’t really straighten up the house or go out of my way to clean up the kitchen. I mean there wasn’t syrup dripping from the walls or anything. But if you want the truth, it wasn’t until I lived in my own college apartment that I actually made a conscious decision to run a dishwasher. 

One summer, this family I sat for had friends visiting from out of town. I was asked to babysit for another set of kids in addition to my three regulars. I didn’t really think much of it because the kids were older and basically self-sufficient. I was tasked with taking them to the neighborhood pool. How hard could it be? 

Unfortunately, I wasn’t told that my new charges were unaware of the existence of rules or boundaries, and also lacked a general sense of social decency. 

We were at the pool for a couple of hours. During that time, I constantly broke up fights between the new siblings, asked them to stop running, and tried distracting them every five minutes when they complained of being hungry and bored. Mercifully, the time came to round up the troops, dry off, and head back to the house. My two regulars (who, in my eyes, were angel-cherub-babies compared to these new guys) obediently got out of the pool. 

However, the extra kids didn’t seem to enjoy being asked to do something they weren’t interested in doing. I patiently walked over to the side of the pool as they continued to swim, staring right at me. Kneeling down, I leaned in and gently said, “It’s time to leave now. Please get out of the pool.” Again, they remained in the pool and at that point, turned and swam in the opposite direction.

It was the first time in my young life I experienced blinding rage. It wasn’t a good feeling, and I knew I had to figure out how to manage it because I was in public, and also, I wanted to be the mature one in the situation (although I was a kid myself…just a much bigger one.)

I’ll cut to the chase…they eventually got out of the pool after I threatened to tell their parents about their behavior. However, the joke was on me. Because the very moment we walked in the door, as their parents cheerfully asked how it all went, those monsters turned, pointed at me, and said, “She’s so mean! She yelled at us and wouldn’t even let us swim!” 

Blinding rage mixed with extreme embarrassment is not a good cocktail. 

I defended myself as best I could while trying to remain professional and mature, but I could tell those kids could do no wrong in their parents’ eyes. I collected my check and left. I may have babysat a few other times for that original family, but I had never been so ready to call it quits on something in my life. It was a monumental life shift for lots of reasons.

I knew I needed to look for a “real” job, preferably one that didn’t require me to defend my character. I walked around our local mall, popping in any store that looked remotely interesting. I even walked into Wicks & Sticks, a candle store, asking if they were hiring. In God’s rich mercy, they were not. I don’t know what I was thinking. What teenager would want to stand there and arrange hand-dipped candles all day? 

Thankfully, my job search didn’t last long. I was hired at TCBY (a frozen yogurt store), apparently along with just about every other girl from my school. It was a safe bet that for every shift, I would be scheduled to work with a friend. 

As far as first jobs go, I had no room to complain. I learned how to interact with customers. I practiced patience for the ones who were grumpy (who can be grumpy when getting frozen yogurt?!) I learned time management. I learned discipline and developed a work ethic. I learned about being a team player. 

Also, I got free yogurt.

It was in that same yogurt shop that my high school crush came by a couple of times to hang out. He would come near closing time because that meant he was usually the only one in the store. That way, I wouldn’t be bothered by demanding customers who had the nerve to order yogurt while I was clearly trying to flirt.

He’d order something basic (usually a small cup of chocolate yogurt), then hang out, standing at the counter chatting with me. One night, just before I locked the register, he asked me if I wanted to go on a date. By that point, several of my friends had told him about my intense crush, and I was assured he liked me too. The fact that he kept showing up to buy yogurt when he actually didn’t even like it was a sign that the feeling was mutual. 

We went out on a date the next week…on June 9th, 1994. 

Tonight we’re going out again. Our 19-year-old is off working as a camp counselor, and our 16-year-old is working at her own minimum wage job at a local cookie shop. It makes me smile thinking of all the life experience she’s gaining. She has learned how to manage some challenging situations. Her already strong work ethic is coming in really handy. She gets to work quite a few shifts with her best friend. 

Also, she gets free cookies. 

In a world that is constantly changing, it’s so comforting to know that some things really do stay the same. And I’m confident she would agree with me when I say…it’s way better than babysitting.