Cookies for Sale

“Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?” I heard that phrase for a solid two hours today. Our little one and her fellow scout stood outside the local mall selling box after box. They explained to the customers how each flavor tasted. They spoke to every person who passed by, some accepted, some apologized, some ignored them totally. Yet these two girls kept smiling and even wished them a nice day. In the end, the two sold 154 boxes. They met their goal plus four.

I stood watching these two for the entire period. While it may be February, the temperatures were warm enough to make you sweat in the sun. My wife and the mother of the other scout sat behind the table collecting the money, running the cards, and restocking the table. While it was warm, the cookies moved so fast that melting could not even begin.

The two moms spent the two hours making sure the girls stayed on task.

“Turn around. Your customers are behind you.”

“Stop hiding behind the map. I know it has shade, but there are no customers out there.”

“Get up.”

All of these phrases echoed time and time again while the girls were being reminded why they were there. I am not sure that the girls really cared. After the first hour, the intrigue had been replaced by hunger, thirst, and boredom. I too started to lose my excitement of being there. My mind started wandering and meandering back to my own childhood and having to hawk my wares as a fund-raiser.

As a youngster, I belonged to a Drum and Bugle Corps as well as attending Catholic school, and finally belonging to the band in high school. All three, and I am sure there were more, involved fund-raising. We raised money for trips, for supplies, and for uniforms. My parents believed that if we wanted to be part of the groups then we had to do the selling. My parents didn’t take the forms to work and sell for us. My wife and I believe the same for our daughter.

I guess in a way it seems sad that we are not willing to up the number of boxes to be credited to her. However, I must always go back to the way I was raised. My parents were not perfect, but they did believe in one doing their own work and earning their way. I believe that it is from where I get a good part of my work ethic. It also is the reason that I have so many memories in which I can revisit during these years of watching our daughter do the same.

I believe my want to succeed and compete in numbers also ended up causing my parents more embarrassment than others. I wanted to sell. I would sell to anybody and everybody. I would attack my parents’ friends. I would approach strangers and ask. I would find new and unique ways to sell items.

Coming from our small town, we were friends with so many of the people. One such case was a priest from the local shrine. I cannot remember how we really met him or how he became so close to the family. I just know that when you needed somebody to talk with Fr. Louis was the man. He cared about people very much. If our drum corps had a rehearsal weekend in the local area, he would come visit and even offer a non-denominational service. He helped us out in many ways. Due to this, I would often take advantage of the friendship.

The Shrine had a rectory with a number of priests. They had to eat. Being part of the high school band which traveled to Florida every two years, we had to sell oranges and grapefruits. Being Catholic, I had to go to confession. In those days, you went once a month – need it or not. My parents dreaded when we would go. They knew. I would go into the confessional – we already did face-to-face – I would confess. It took minutes. Then I would kick back and start chatting. After a while, Fr. Louis would ask what I was selling. I would pull out my order forms. Forty-five minutes after entering the confessional, I would emerge to stares. People would whisper and look at my parents. They looked at the ground and would wait until we walked out of church before asking how much I sold.

My having to see for all of these clubs actually led to my first job. I was a Fuller Brush salesman. I had my kit and would go door-to-door selling brushes, combs, cleaning supplies, and other items. I also had a job as a water bed salesman later in life. All of these things came about because my parents had me complete the task of raising money for the groups to which I belonged.

I snapped back to our daughter. She completes a sales of six boxes. I can tell that she is tired and not finding this all that fun. But she continues. She turns around and starts asking the next person to walk by. My wife gives her a tip and she goes back at it. I can start to see that when she is older, she will have skills from today from which she will be able to draw. I wonder if Fuller Brush is still around.

So the next time you see a student doing a fund-raiser, help them out. You are helping them build skills for life.

Thank you for meandering with me tonight. Oh yeah, let me know if our daughter should contact you with a box or two.