Most of my childhood memories are episodic.
I was young, second or third grade, when my mum took me over to one of her friend’s homes. Her friend had a daughter who was older than me — a middle schooler, maybe, or perhaps in high school — and spending time with her in her room was special to me. It was like having an older sister, something as an only child I’d always wanted but never had. I don’t recall us ever truly doing anything, but I remember being fascinated by the things she was into: pictures of cute boys from magazines taped onto her wall, tapestries hanging from the ceiling, recorded episodes of 90210 on VHS from the week before.
But one thing that she had that I coveted beyond measure was a copy of the Baby-Sitters Club board game. I begged her to play it each and every time I was over, and I’m sure she relented once or twice, though I can’t quite remember. What I can remember, though, is begging hard enough that she allowed me to borrow it from her. The terms of the borrowing are a bit fuzzy, though I’ll freely admit that she never got that game back from me. I don’t know if it was because I forgot about it or because I had no intention of returning it, or, perhaps most possibly, she’d completely forgotten it as she grew up and into other interests and passions. But I remember finding it in a big house cleaning before I went off to college and realizing that it became mine at some point along the way.
I loved the game. I played it whenever I could, and I loved whenever my friends came over to my house, that I could present this as an option to spend time together. I usually played Stacey, though periodically, I’d also play Dawn.