Babysitting the Baumgartners

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I was fifteen when I started babysitting for the Baumgartners. They had two kids. Henry and Janie were four and five the first time I sat in their living room eating pizza and watching “Lilo and Stitch” with them. I still remember them that way, both conked out on the floor, their greasy faces smearing their mom’s white carpet.

I loved babysitting for them. Mr. Baumgartner-”Call me Doc, everybody does”-usually came home drunk enough to pay me way too much for the night. Mrs. Baumgartner-she never said to call her anything but Mrs. Baumgartner, although I did shorten it to “Mrs. B” over the years-was very pretty and very nice and kept really good ice cream (Haagen-Dazs) in the freezer. They had a huge TV, an enormous house, and I became their regular babysitter every Friday night, sometimes Saturdays, too, all through high school.

My parents complained they never saw me on weekends, and would ask “Where are you going now?” as I headed out the door, calling back, “I’m babysitting the Baumgartners!”

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