Our childhood rules (before the existence of today’s technology and more informed parenting) included that we couldn’t go beyond the Smith’s house to the south, or the Heart’s house to the north, and we had to be home before dark—or before that if our mother called. And “calling” meant that she was actually yelling from the front of the house, not using a phone. Indeed, these same rules were shared by all the kids in my neighborhood, which made for a guarantee of social activity—particularly in the summertime.
We loved the long summer days, when dozens of kids of all ages would emerge in synchrony from their houses in the morning, often barefoot and siblings in tow, and we would find ourselves biking, roller skating, chalk drawing, catching tadpoles, making mud pies, building forts, having bubble gum blowing contests, and wherever else our imaginations took us.
One summer in a fit of entrepreneurial spirit, about ten of us decided to start a lemonade stand. We assigned jobs for mixing lemonade, adding ice, pouring, selling and collecting money.
My mom supplied the cooler, and we calculated the ratio for the powdered Country Time Lemonade. We all worked on making a large sign to advertise the lemonade stand, and all further marketing was strictly word-of-mouth.
Soon it was time for our “Grand Opening.” Apparently, our marketing was solid; there was a line at the beginning of the day, and the lemonade was flowing. We were charging three cents per cup and I was collecting the money. Of course, our customers were our own siblings, neighbors and friends.
One of my friend’s young sisters, about age four, made her way to the front of the line. I handed over the lemonade, which she promptly gulped down. Then she looked at me and asked me for her three cents back. I explained to her that was the price for the lemonade, which she just drank. She stared at me blankly and tears began to collect in her eyes. She asked again for the money back.
Being a brat, I asked for the lemonade back. Then the tears fully sprung, flowing, and she pleaded that wasn’t fair. Softening, I asked why. She said because it was her money and she wanted it back. I turned tack and tried to explain the process: We had paid for the lemonade, so collecting money was our way of being paid back. No breakthrough. I tried another route; I explained that if her lemonade was free, then I would have to give everyone else lemonade for free, and that wasn’t fair.
She was now fully sobbing, and then admitted she’d be in trouble for spending her money without asking permission from her parents. She abruptly turned to go home, distraught. My heart sank. I justified that it was fair to charge three cents for the lemonade, and further that her parents would explain everything to her at home. But, the uneasy feeling lingered. A sickening realization of my stubborn attitude swirled with my understanding of her predicament.
I’d like to say I know what happened when she went home; I don’t. I do know that I took this experience into my adult life. To this day, I regret that I was not polite, loving or kind. I didn’t bother to show compassion, or to be curious, or to explore her perspective.
I think of this often. We all have our own perspectives, our own personal stories and things we bring to the table. BOTH SIDES OF AN EXPERIENCE CAN BE LOGICAL AND VALID AT THE SAME TIME. Staying curious, kind and compassionate—a three-cent lesson from a lemonade stand decades ago—might open doors to communication that helps and heals.
– Christina Zechiel
Christina Zechiel is a life-long lover of learning; preferably when the lessons aren’t learned the hard way and is still figuring out what to be when she grows up. A favorite phrase of hers is, “This life is a privilege.” Above all else, she is profoundly grateful for her two children, who are her everything.