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I didn't apply for my first babysitting job, I was born into the position. In my family, gender dictated the type of job you would be assigned throughout your childhood. For me, I earned my pennies being the family dish wiper and babysitter. Some days mom would offer me a bonus if I started dinner or the laundry, so I did manage to save a few dollars. However, babysitting my younger two brothers and sister was my main job for years. It involved watching over them, protecting them if they got into fights, and helping them with homework.

When they were babies and I was twelve, I loved it. Babysitting was better than playing with dolls. My friends and I would dress them up, and take them for walks as if they were gigantic Barbie's. We even renamed my youngest brother Ken. His real name was Doug. To this day, neighbors still ask my mom how Kenny is doing?

When you have three brothers in your family, odds are one will be the devil himself. Brian earned that role before he was four. Though he wore no horns and his skin was not red, he was an evil child. Mom refers to those days as his mischievous days. I think she has always been in denial about her middle kid. Brian was a horrible kid.

" Just ask the neighbors," I reminded her. They remember everything he ever did to them. He traumatized most of them. They still remember when he got hold of some old paint and gave their new deck and fence a few streaks of blue. Or when he super glued their mailboxes, and made a game out of tossing dog poop with a hockey stick, from our yard to theirs. "Fifty points if you hit the house, hundred if it sticks". He would yell. I was surprised none of them took out restraining orders on him. Although several called police after he got the BB gun for Christmas.

Brian proved to be my biggest problem while I babysat. My mother told me I should be able to control him. "He's only 8." She would say. "You are 12. If he gives you a hard time, make him go to his room". She instructed before leaving. It never worked for her, I don't know why she assumed it would work for me. I was convinced the only voices he would listen to, were the ones in his head. But mom trusted I could handle it and left me alone with her two young babies and a child I knew came from hell.

In the years I was in charge, Brian pulled many false fire alarms, blew up two chemistry sets on my mother's laundry table. With the laundry on it. Pushed my youngest brother off a tricycle sending him for stitches to his forehead. He even stole a neighborhood kid's bike because he liked it better than his. All on my watch.

Luckily we all survived Brian's childhood. And although he grew up to become a fine brother, husband, and father, I take comfort in knowing his two sons are ten times worse than he ever was. You get what you give, we all joke. He wonders why none of us siblings will babysit. We're afraid, we tell him. They are worse than you Brian.

Learn more about this author, Cyn Lee.
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