I have not re-read a single one of the BSC books since I was a child.
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Ever since then, I've had the urge to crack open my newly purchased, signed copy of the first book.īut I've been hesitant. She was gracious and kind, letting me carry on and on about how much the books meant to me, sharing my library bandit escapades of 18 years prior, and generally fangirling as much as she's probably used to. Martin, I felt the same giddy feelings bubbling up in me all over again. And when, last year, I had the opportunity to meet Ann M. But I never really forgot the characters, and the way those books made me feel, how they became such a huge part of my childhood. I gave them to neighbors, donated them to libraries, moved on to other series. Of course, I eventually grew out of the books, too. The quaintness of suburban life was like a whole other world to me, and I loved losing myself in a place like Stoneybrook, where nothing all that bad ever seemed to happen. There were no after-school meet-ups with friends in their bedrooms, no playing in our neighbors backyards, or knowing every kid in the neighborhood well enough to babysit them. For me, the lives these girls led were so different and exotic from my own upbringing in Manhattan's Lower East Side. I can remember feeling as if there was nothing more fun or more sophisticated than being part of a baby-sitter's club. I loved them so much, in fact, that I started pilfering them from the very small school library, definitely the most rebellious thing I had ever done.
I devoured a book a day all through fourth and fifth grades, especially during the summer. From that moment forward I was a proud member of the club.
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It was filled with hundreds of BSC books the main series and tons of Super Specials, those heftier books that brought the characters on summer vacations at the shore and trips to New York. She carted (literally, carted, in one of those ubiquitous "old lady" shopping carts you probably only see in New York City because none of us have cars and we need to bring our groceries home somehow) over to my house one afternoon. A co-worker of my mother's had two older daughters, both of whom had long outgrown the series. I was about 8 or 9 years old, and the first book, Kristy's Great Idea, had been out for over 10 years already. My first introduction to The Baby-Sitter's Club was when I was in the fourth grade.
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