Fifty-Seven Cents

Me. Prospective laborer . . . and fashionista.

I was going to be minding one child.

For two-plus hours.

And the best part? Someone was going to pay me for doing it.

It was my very first official baby-sitting job.

Actually, my first baby-sitting job of any kind.

I had just turned twelve.

I was legal.

And I was way past excited.

Imagine having a job and getting paid to do it. And fifty cents an hour wasn't uncommon. Why, some of my friends had even been paid a whole dollar an hour!

I could just picture the wealth that would soon be mine!

I reported for duty at precisely the right time, armed with everything I might need. Books. Games. Snacks.

Shannon, the little girl I was looking after, was four.

And adorable.

She played quietly and was fairly obedient.

I’d have to say it was a good first-time experience.
All too soon, her mother was at the door and my time was up.

Now, for the exciting part. Where I got paid for the work I did.

Or maybe I should clarify: Where I should have gotten paid for the work I did.

“Diane, I’m sorry, I don’t have any change,” her mother said. “I’ll have to pay you later.”

“Oh,” I said. “Ummm . . . all right.” What else could I say? ‘No. I’ll stand right here until you produce the money?!’

I packed up my kit and left. Okay, that was a bit . . . anticlimactic.

Several days later, at Church actually, the mother approached me. “Diane, I asked your brother how much I should pay you.”

Wait, I thought. You asked my brother? My brother?! Why on earth would you ask my brother and not me?

“He told me that you charge twenty-five cents an hour.”

Excuse me. He told you what?!

“So here’s your pay for two and a quarter hours.” She dropped two quarters, a nickel and two pennies into my hand.

Fifty Seven cents.

Fifty seven cents?!

I stared at the woman. Then at the money in my hand.

I had worked for over two hours for fifty seven cents?!

Suddenly my dream of riches made babysitting seemed like just that . . . dreams.

I still managed to smile and thank her.

I think.

I know I had words with my brother who simply shrugged and said, “How was I to know?”

I’m sure you can probably understand why I never hired him as my manager.

Oh, and I never really did much babysitting after that.

A few times when I simply couldn’t think of an excuse.

But I made up for it later by producing and raising six children.

Hmmm. I just realized that I never got paid for that, either.

Well . . . not in money.