MICKI BARE Advertisement

It was one of those days for multiple trips from home to various locations around town and back home again. And so I exited and re-entered my subdivision three times. That meant I passed a thirst-quenching lemonade stand six times. I had six opportunities to stop and thrill a rambunctious group of young entrepreneurs.

But each time I passed the stand I was late picking up or dropping off someone or something. So I thought to myself, the next time I ride by, I will certainly stop.

When I finally had "time" to stop, the young entrepreneurs had closed up shop. It was dinner time. I missed a great opportunity.

Considering the many hours I sat at the side of the road with my friends, a folding table, cardboard signs, plastic cups and a pitcher of instant lemonade, I certainly owe the roadside lemonade stand industry. After splitting the profit with my friends, I'd earned enough to buy that glow-in-the-dark yo-yo I'd seen at the grocery story every time my mom popped in to buy a gallon of milk.

The glow-in-the-dark toy was just the tip of the iceberg. The lessons learned sitting on the tree stump near the folding table, waiting for cars to pass by so I could hold up my sign, will stay with me forever.

The intersection at which our parents let us sell lemonade was not the busiest of spots. Our safety-minded parents didn't mind us working for a living, but they were not going to chance having one of us get hit by a car. Our ever-cautious moms also made us set up shop at our bus stop, an area with plenty of caution signs to warn drivers of the presence of children.

But we made it work. We were persistent. We included a cooler filled with ice to ensure our few-and-far-between customers were guaranteed a cool drink whether they purchased the first cup of the day or the last.

We set up shop around lunchtime and stayed out all afternoon until our moms called us in for dinner. We knew the longer we hung out at the lemonade stand, the more cups of refreshment we'd sell. We knew that we'd have to make a long-term commitment to the project. We actually sold instant lemonade for three days straight.

In the world of a 10-year-old who'd rather be at the lake swimming with friends, three days is quite the commitment. I must've really wanted that yo-yo.

Making instant lemonade and catchy posters, dragging the folding table, cups, lemonade and ice chest to the bus stop, setting up, harassing drivers for four hours, and packing and hauling everything back home was a lot of work for three children on summer vacation.

But we were visionary children with a goal. And we met it. Our hard work paid off. It was quite a lesson for a group of giggly girls who spent most of their spare time decorating Malibu Barbie's dream house.

However, the memories are not all warm and fuzzy. I also remember the man who criticized our product. He said if he was going to spend 10 cents for a cup of thirst-quenching lemonade, the least we could do is provide fresh squeezed. We apologized and thanked him for his advice.

We also learned that you can't please everybody all the time, especially when you don't have a lot of money to invest up front.

At least the critical man bought a cup and we collected his dime. There were cars that drove right past us. Those were the worst. They shook their heads "no" or avoided eye contact altogether as they whizzed by our stand.

We were good kids. We weren't hoodlums out creating mischief. We weren't melting our brains playing Pong for hours on end. We weren't wasting our time glued to re-runs of "The Brady Bunch" and "Gilligan's Island." We were being creative. We were working hard as were the children on the corner in my neighborhood just a few days ago.

I am now wracked with guilt. I should have stopped and purchased a cup of lemonade. How could I grow up to be one of those who drive right by without stopping to support young entrepreneurs?

My only hope for redemption is that the children in my neighborhood will show the same persistence my friends and I showed decades ago and set up shop again. This time, I'll stop as soon as I see them. And to make up for my past behavior, I'll buy a round of thirst-quenching refreshment for my whole family.

Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@earthlink.net.