When I was thirteen, I landed my first “real” babysitting gig, though I had already watched young kids since I was eleven, usually while their parents went to the store or sometimes even when they went out at night. I had a business going, and I was paid 50 cents an hour. That was pretty good back in 1969 and 1970 in San Francisco.
But Mom and I had lunch with one of her good friends, Mary Doherty, who was in a bind. She had two young girls, ages six and seven, whom I’d known since they were little, and she was pregnant. She worked different shifts and hours as a registered nurse, and she could not afford full-time summer daycare for her daughters. There was also the issue of her soon-to-be ex-husband, who sometimes crashed at the house to sleep after his night shift as a cab driver, and the fact that he was not the father of the baby. I was told this in case there was any question — I was to say that Bob was the dad. That was a lot to take in, even at thirteen, but I agreed to everything and didn’t ask questions.
I told my younger brother and sister, Michael and Jennifer, that I would not be around much this summer, that I had a “babysitting gig.” I also let them know that they were welcome to visit us. Mary had said she was okay with this because she knew my family. I was excited about the job, but I was also a little scared at the same time. I was leaving my poor sister and brother behind to deal with our evil stepfather, who had entered the picture in such a bad way.
“Come over if you feel unsafe or need anything!” I hugged Jennifer. “I’m not far away.”
“We’ll be okay. We’ll play outside all summer and he won’t know where we are!” I nodded because I knew Mom would be off work and home by the time they returned home from playing.
I walked to the flat where Mary lived, a few blocks away from our flat on Second Avenue off Lincoln Way. Mary wore a nurse’s uniform. Her stomach stuck out a little. She was short, standing only five feet tall, with a round face and a wide smile. She was so lovely. I felt sorry for her being in such a predicament. Eileen and Maureen, ages seven and six, bounded into the hallway where I met Mary. They each grabbed one of Mary’s arms, and one of them said, “Is this our new babysitter?”
“Yes, this is Mary Lane. I hope you’re nice to her!” Eileen’s hair was blondish brown, long and straight with bangs, and Maureen, who looked tinier than her six years, had blonde hair. They both smiled shyly.
“Hi! We’re gonna have fun this summer!” I said, hoping that it was true.
After giving me instructions and showing me more written instructions stuck to the refrigerator, along with her work phone number and various other details, Mary finally left for work, and I was left alone with the girls for the first time.
“Do you like music?” Eileen asked.
“I love music!” I answered. I almost said, “especially the Beatles!” but did not. The Beatles were my all-time favorite, even though they were no longer playing together.
Eileen skipped into the living room, and Maureen grabbed my hand and looked at me. I held on, and we followed Eileen. Eileen ran to a large record collection lined up next to the stereo and pulled out an album.
“Is your mom okay with you playing the records?” I asked. My mom was picky, and it took a while to talk her into letting me play records on the Victrola.
“Oh she’s okay with it! Can we listen to this? This is our favorite right now!”
Eileen handed me the record and I looked at it. Carole King Tapestry with a picture of Carole King herself wearing jeans and bare feet and looking like a hippie chick on the front cover. I loved her look! I had never seen or heard this album before.
“Okay, I’ll play it for you!” I placed the album on the turntable and carefully set the needle to the record. I was an expert at this!
The song, “I Feel the Earth Move under my feet, I feel the sky trumblin’ down” played, and we all danced to it.
Before we knew it, the girls and I knew that song and many others on that album. We danced and sang. We went for long walks and soon Eileen was holding my hand too. I even took them to the beach with their mom’s permission of course. Sometimes my sister joined us.
They saved mme and I saved them.