A motorcycle, The Omen, a coin thief, a teenage love triangle and an escape from our home: The stories of my childhood babysitters

It has been a while since my sister and I have written anything together, but we write a blog about our childhood called 107 Federal Street (our childhood address).

Kelli has a memory like no person I have ever met, and she is a good writer, so my hope was that in writing a blog together, she would unlock some of the stories from my childhood that I have long since forgotten. On the occasions that I have convinced her to write (lately I have been using guilt, which seems to be the most effective), this is exactly what has happened. She tells stories to which I only had vague recollections, but as she describes the events, it’s as if a door is opened in my mind and the memories come flooding inside.

Typically, Kelli writes a post that tells a story from our childhood, and then I write a follow-up post including any memories that I might have, as well as my reaction to her piece.

Our childhood was an interesting time in our lives, filled with surprise, adventure and tragedy, so the stories that she has written thus far have been great. And there are so many others just waiting to be told.

My goal in writing the blog is twofold:

1. Create something that her children and mine might enjoy reading someday.

2. Gather material for the memoir that I am writing.

Today I published our first post of 2012, a story about our childhood babysitters and how I began babysitting at all hours of the day and night for my siblings at the tender age of nine.