Today, while driving to the Post Office in my old Denver neighborhood, I passed a little girl’s lemonade stand. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old but she was shouting at motorists like a professional carnival barker. Had I not been in traffic I would have pulled over and bought a cup. In fact, I may even go back tomorrow to see if she’s still there.
It brought back childhood memories of life at Ft. Sam Houston, Texas, where our home was located immediately across the street from a ball field where Army soldiers played softball every weekend. Mom taught us how to make and sell something she called ‘duros.’ It might have been a totally made-up name. I never knew. But a duro was Kool-Aid in a Dixie cup, a Popsicle stick in the center, frozen hard in our big basement freezer. In the hot Texas sun the softball teams lined up to buy duros from my little brother and me.
The coincidence of seeing today’s news story linked below was remarkable. An Overton, Texas cop has put a little girl’s lemonade stand out of business because she didn’t have a permit.
I’m glad I grew up in a more innocent age when political correctness wasn’t used to beat up little kids.