When I was a kid, lemonade stands were pretty common. I recall my cousin Linda and I selling Dixie cups filled with the ice cold refreshment from a folding-leg card table at the corner of her driveway when we were maybe six or seven years old.
That was the same summer we wrote joke books with jokes we stole from a book in our room, copyrights be damned. “What do you call a policeman cookie? A copcake.” You get the idea.
That was a long time ago, but I can still remember many of the jokes, bad as they were. We argued about whether we should make up our own jokes or use the ones’ in the book, so we did both. The only problem was, our jokes weren’t funny or really original. I worry about that with my own writing sometimes. Bummer!
My youngest daughter is seven years old, so I put her to work selling lychee from our orchard here on the Big Island. I got a ladder and cut the tender branches down, and she and I snapped off the best, sweet fruit and she bagged them and sold to people in cars passing by. We laughed and sweated for an hour, eating our profits, drinking ice water and counting dollar bills.
In the end, she cut me in on the profits, handing me $3 from the $13 total while we were carrying the table down our long red-dust driveway to the garage. She’d make a good publisher with that split she gave me!
We’ve got a dozen lychee trees, so it looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me (no pun intended or implied) these next two weeks as our fruit ripens and become heavy in the trees. I hope my daughter keeps cutting me in on her sales. Of course lemonade or lychee, it’s all good.
My only hope is that she remembers the experience as a fun time like I recall the days at my cousin’s house, playing games, spilling popcorn in our beds, watching The Flintstones, eating Suzy Homebaker cake mix out of the packet (alright, that was just me, hiding in a darkened closet), and telling each other “I told you so.”
Thanks for reading, take care, and remember the fun you had as a child. I certainly do.