She writes a note to her mom: “Dear mom, I’m sorry I was so rude. Kristy lies in bed that night, feeling shameful and realizing Watson is a good father who sees his two kids regularly, unlike her own absent dad. I felt badly for Watson, a man who clearly cares about Kristy’s mom, but also understood Kristy’s pain, seeing a new man replace her father. “I’m sorry Watson,” Kristy says, heading to the stairs before hurling one last insult: “I’m sorry you’re such a horrible father!!” Joe action figures “dolls.” Finally, her mom sends her to her room. The scene becomes more uncomfortable as it unfolds, with Kristy giving clipped responses to Watson’s well-meaning questions and mocking Watson for calling his son’s G.I. The most painful scene in the book comes when Watson buys Chinese food for the family, a peace offering of sorts that Kristy rejects, choosing a peanut butter sandwich instead. Kristy’s parents are split up and while she seems happy living with her single mom and three brothers, she does not approve of her mom’s new boyfriend, Watson. In fact, secretive Stacey has diabetes, a disease she is deeply embarrassed by but quickly comes to terms with when her friends assure her it’s no big deal: even Kristy’s cousin has diabetes.ĭivorce is the other sensitive subject the book digs into. I was impressed that a book aimed at preteens would even assume young readers know what anorexia means, let alone tackle the subject head on. She must have an eating disorder, I assume, as does Kristy, who finally shouts, “You have anorexia, right?” She’s scared of candy, tells the club she’s on a diet and comes up with excuses to leave the room when junk food appears. When skinny New York City-raised Stacey McGill moves to town, it becomes clear she’s hiding something. This could easily be a recipe for bland young adult fiction. The 13-year-olds offer their babysitting services out of Claudia’s bedroom - because she has a phone - and share stories about their adventures and misadventures at meetings. We also get to know the initial four babysitters: outgoing Kristy, creative Claudia, quiet Mary Anne, and cool and secretive Stacey. The book details the creation of the Baby-Sitters Club: Kristy had a “Great Idea” and the club forms around her leadership. Martin - I devoured it in one sitting, putting it down only to take notes and blink back a tear or two. When I reread Kristy’s Great Idea - a new graphic novel version of the original book by Ann M. I mean, if a Grade 3 kid can plow through them, how deep can they be? When my editor asked me to re-evaluate a form of entertainment I cared about as a kid, I feared my beloved Baby-Sitters Club books were going to be exposed as simple-minded drivel. Twenty years later, I’m bumping that rating up to 3.5 stars.
The characters also seemed cool, independent and responsible - all traits I aspired to attain when I became a 13-year-old grown-up. The books served as my escape and my anchor, stimulating my imagination and giving me the confidence only a once-illiterate child burning through 150 pages of a book can understand. Seven-year-old me gives The Baby-Sitters Club a rating of 3 stars out 4. They made me feel happy, safe, curious and smart.
The previous year, my family moved from Ottawa - where I’d learned to read in French - and I was getting over the shock of being branded not so smart by my Grade 2 teacher (she put me in the “turtle” reading group) and a goody-two-shoes by my classmates (I liked answering questions a lot).īut my fictional babysitting friends - Claudia, Kristy, Mary Anne and Stacey - didn’t judge me or question my intellect. The Baby-Sitters Club books, and the characters depicted within them, ostensibly became my best friends in Grade 3, when I was a new student at Assikinack Public School in Barrie. Me? I’m asking my teacher for a playtime exemption and burrowing into a dog-eared book. It’s 1995 and my classmates are sprinting around the room, throwing toys in the air and frantically doodling with glitter pens. In this weekly series, we look back at our first pop culture loves.
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