I was just eleven years old when I first ventured to babysit for someone outside my home. As the second eldest in a family of eight children, I had significant experience, especially considering that my mother had decided to stop having more kids.

Back in those days, before disposable diapers existed, I changed many cloth ones, which were essentially large squares of flannel. When soiled, they required rinsing in the toilet before being tossed into a diaper pail for a thorough wash with Borax. Clean diapers were neatly folded, and once secured on the baby, they were often complemented with waterproof pants known as “soakers.”

My responsibilities extended beyond diaper duty; I also fed and bathed numerous infants and toddlers. Unlike my neighbor LouAnne, I didn't harbor any romanticized notions about babies. To me, they were simply demanding, often crying beings in need of constant attention.

So, when Lois, a friend of my mother’s, reached out for someone to care for her two children, I was deemed suitable and sent over. Lois and her husband, Arnold, were educators living a short walk away. Their house stood elevated from the street, requiring me to climb several steps to reach the front door.

Lois greeted me, her frizzy sandy hair and glasses making her a memorable figure. Despite not being conventionally attractive, her warm demeanor was inviting as she shared instructions regarding the children’s schedule, snacks, and emergency contacts. Her handwriting was meticulous, a testament to her teaching background.

Arnold, who was tall and somewhat awkward with thinning hair, had a friendly disposition. Their home was immaculate and distinctly different from my own. One of its standout features was a spacious sleeping porch that offered a stunning view of the Columbia River and beyond.

Typically, I babysat during the day, occasionally staying late when they went out for a movie. They exemplified a respectful partnership, often communicating with kindness and occasionally holding hands.

Lois and Arnold were engaged parents who encouraged their children, Sandy and Benny, to thrive. I can only imagine they grew up to be admirable individuals.

Another family I babysat for was the O'Malleys, who had four children. Sean, the eldest at six, was followed by his siblings Kelly, Marky, and Chrissy, the youngest at three. All the kids shared their parents' dark hair and brown eyes, except for the blonde Chrissy.

Barb, who married at sixteen, seemed well-off, and her parents exuded wealth during their visit. After their departure, I encountered artichokes for the first time, puzzled by their presence at the dining table.

Barb was a striking woman with a curvy figure, while her husband, Dan, maintained a handsome appearance. Their home, while not luxurious, had modern furniture, but the outside was less appealing, lacking a lawn or flowers.

Inside, the atmosphere was grim. Peeling wallpaper and sparse furnishings characterized the children's rooms, while Dan and Barb's bedroom, though furnished, was dusty and unkempt.

During my time babysitting, I discovered Dan's collection of Playboys, which I found during the long hours waiting for their return. They often stayed out late, leaving me alone in a house that felt both eerie and cold.

The kids were well-behaved, making my job easier, but I sensed Barb's unhappiness. For my efforts, I received a mere 35 cents an hour, occasionally supplemented for doing the dishes—a task she would often claim required redoing, a point I found hard to believe given my experience.

In addition to the O'Malleys, I took on various babysitting jobs, driven by a desire to escape my own home. At fourteen, I worked for Lee, who lived about a mile away. Upon arrival, I found the house to be relatively pleasant until the overwhelming odor of urine hit me.

Lee, a cocktail waitress, had three children: Suzie, Danny, and baby Missy. While Suzie was lively, Danny was less communicative. I quickly discovered Missy's wet crib and tended to her needs, cleaning up after her.

Although Lee was often absent, she seemed to prioritize her appearance over her children. The house was filled with clutter, including overflowing ashtrays and an alarming lack of food—bologna, mustard, and Velveeta were staples.

In contrast to my own home, which, despite its chaos, always provided ample food and a sense of togetherness, Lee's household felt disordered and neglectful.

Thanks for reading.