When I was Rich

middle schoolIn the summer between my seventh and eighth grade year I had my first “real” job. Three times a week my mom would drop me off at neighbor’s house and for the next eight hours I was the caregiver for two preschool aged children.

Today, as a mom myself, I can’t imagine trusting my children to the care of a thirteen year old with no practical experience outside of the church nursery, but I guess we were all more innocent in the eighties… certainly more naive.

For each of those three days I would be responsible for nap times, lunches, diaper changes and entertainment. I’m sure I was at least competent, but I don’t remember much about the experience.  For some reason, I have linked Disney’s version of Robin Hood and lots of Masterpiece Theater to that job, so I suspect that we watched an awful lot of videos. Other than the VHS invasion, the only other thing I remember about that summer is how RICH I thought I was.  You see, I was earning $3 an hour and I sincerely thought, “Why is there an unemployment problem?!  People should just BABYSIT.”

$72 a week. White denim jacket. Robin Hood.  That was the good life baby.

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