The year was 1997 (I think) and the summer was bright and sunny, like a child's smile.
My youngest brother, Timmy, was six and a budding, baby entrepreneur.
We lived in the house with the red roof on Arthur Street in Thornbury. It was the perfect spot for Timmy's summertime venture.
He opened a lemonade stand.
My mom helped him set up a table, a little chair and an umbrella. He had a Tupperware dish full of change and two pitchers of lemonade. Actually, I think it might have been fruit punch. No matter, it was cold, liquid and refreshing.
But that wasn't the sales pitch.
Timmy is a sort of anomaly in our family of five: four have black or almost black hair and brown to almost black eyes. He was born with blue eyes and blond hair, and the perfect amount of cheek chub.
He was six years old when he opened his lemonade stand. His hair was freshly cut (mushroom/adorable style of course!) and his eyes were summertime blue.
My mom gave him a quick math lesson. Each cup of lemonade costs 20 cents. So, when someone gave him a quarter, he learned to give the customer back a nickel.
Well, sales took off immediately; pedestrians strolling by couldn't resist the little blonde boy with the fruit punch.
Some people driving by in their vehicles pulled over to the side of the road for a quarter-pint of the good stuff.
Soon, we realized that my mom's math lesson was proving to be inadequate. Timmy, born more suave than Han Solo, didn't let on. He stayed solid. Five cents back. That's what he was taught and that's what he was sticking to.
Even when a nice lady stopped her car in front of the stand for a sip and gave him a five-dollar bill for her cup, he handed her a shiny nickel. She laughed endearingly and drove away. She paid $4.95 for a cup of fruit punch, and it was worth every penny, because Timmy was just so darn cute.
I tried a couple times to sit with Timmy while he sold his juice, but he quickly figured out that sharing the stand with a gawky 12 year-old girl seriously cut into sales. I was shooed and he resumed sales as usual.
Timmy is, of course, far past the lemonade stand age.
But I recently read about two young boys trying to accomplish what my dear baby brother did in the summer of 1997.
Alex Pederson and Mackenzie Burke Sikorra, both 12, opened a lemonade stand and added popcorn and homemade dog treats to the inventory to maximize capital. The boys opened their stand in a park in a Vancouver suburb. They operated for much of this summer, hoping to raise money for uniforms for Mackenzie's soccer team.
They got busted for peddling in a park and had to pedal away from their summer fundraising dreams.
Bylaw officers, responding to a complaint by a sourpuss park pedestrian, shut down the whole lemonade operation. Town bylaws prohibit park property peddling.
So much for new soccer uniforms and six-year old nickel-back operations. Timmy seems to be part of an obsolete group of junior entrepreneurs with hearts of gold and smiles like summer.
