Looking back, I see now why I received such odd reactions from people when I told them I was going to sell items from the front yard of my grandparents’ house.
We lived on a dead end road with the same ten vehicles that traveled down it every day, and usually at the same time.
But I was determined to set up a little table with a variety of items to sell in order to save money for a new bike.
My old bike was an embarrassment. The training wheels had been removed almost two years ago, but Maw Maw insisted on me continuing to use the God-forsaken thing.
“There is no sense is buying a new bike with hard-earned money when that one is perfectly fine to ride,” she would tell me.
But, in my mind, it did make sense. After little Charles from down the road told me to take my “tricycle” back home, I was bound and determined to get a new bike, complete with streamers and plastic rollers on the wheel spokes.
It was a pleasant fall morning when I gathered my small rolling table and made my way out to the end of the gravel driveway. Maw Maw scooted her rocking chair to the end of the carport so she could watch me.
The doubt in her face could be seen for miles. But I didn’t care. I considered myself a natural-born salesman, and I wasn’t worried about the doubters in my own home.
On my table of goodies, I had an assortment of mints for a nickel a piece. I had a pitcher of bright red Kool-Aid, complete with a smiling face I wrote on the sweat of the glass. I had individual packages of cheese balls for a quarter each. And I had a flyer with information on how to hire me to walk your dog for you.
Plopping down in my seat, I waited for my first customer. I even made Paw Paw sit in my place when I ran inside for a bathroom break and to get a few Archie comics to read while I waited for my customers to arrive.
The clock began to tick, and still no customers.
It was a disappointing start. After two hours, I only had one dollar in my Prince Albert can. Paw Paw bought two bags of cheese balls and two cups of Kool-Aid, which got him a good yelling from Maw Maw since he was a diabetic.
With one dollar, I might could buy a silver horn to put on my “tricycle,” but a new bike was still far out of reach.
Around lunch time, a fe people started making their way home from work to grab a bite to eat. And some of the older neighbors were heading into town to run a few errands.
I am sure the way I looked that afternoon cause a tinge of pity in my neighbors because they all stopped to check out my merchandise.
A ten year old girl with a lopsided ponytail and a look of despair was my meal ticket. My red Kool-Aid was now closer to pink because all the ice had melted. Those nickel mints were also as soft as a baby’s bottom cause the sun cooked them. I had eaten about five bags of cheese balls myself. And my dog-walking business had also grown into a yard cleaning endeavor.
I may not have sold everything on my table that day, but I came pretty close. Not counting the cheese balls and punch I had for myself, I made about 30 dollars (with a few extra donations).
It wasn’t quite enough for a brand new bike, but it showed that I had a sense of work in me. My family must have noticed because I did get that new bike a couple of weeks later, complete with wicker basket, silver horn, streamers, spoke roller and a flashing light that went on the back of my seat.
And I rode it with pride up and down my dead end street. I think it meant a little more to me because I knew that I had put a few bucks in on it as well.
I even honked my little bike horn as I rode past Charles’ house to let him know that a new sheriff was in town. I was a lean, money-making machine with a new bike and a new attitude.
But my new sense of freedom didn’t last very long.
“You need to get off that new bike and come walk my dog,” Charles yelled, holding Sparky by his leash.
