Pop Corn For Sale

“Mom, if I sell enough popcorn, I can get another Wii!”  Eric (almost 8) was hopping up and down and holding a set of fund raising order forms in his hands. The yearly Boy Scouts fundraiser was underway and Eric was excited to be a part of it. 

“Let me see the forms.” I said.  I looked over the instructions that Eric’s den leader had sent home.  Before I could get too far Eric pushed the prize sheet under my nose.  “Mom, look at this.”

I frowned.  The prize list is there to encourage kids to sell more popcorn.  For a mere three hundred dollars in sales, Eric can earn a canteen, a toy race car or pocket knife.  The top prize, a Wii game system, requires three thousand dollars in sales.  I did’t want to damper Eric’s enthusiasm but three thousand dollars is a lot of popcorn.  I like popcorn but I’m pretty sure I can’t eat three thousand dollars worth - at least not in one sitting.

Eric’s eyes were wide and hopeful as he snatched the prize sheet back and spread it on the kitchen table.  “Look at all the cool prizes I can earn.” His eyes sparkled and he pointed to a set of Legos as if it were a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  Instead of joining Eric's enthusiasm I was wondering whether it wouldn’t be easier to buy him a toy at Wal-Mart.  Bribery was always a good option.

I don’t remember having the same gusto for fundraising sales when I was a kid.  In fact, to this day I’d rank door-to-door sales right up there with root canal surgery and haircuts. 

My first brush with fundraising was during the first grade at St. Stephen’s Catholic Elementary School.  Like Eric, I was excited to learn that I would earn prizes based on the amount of stuff I sold. I remember bringing the order sheet home and showing it to my Mom. 

“Look Mom,” I said. “You can buy wrapping paper, and candles and cans of peanuts.”

My older sister, Theresa, had brought home the exact same order sheet.  So did twenty other kids on our block.  My mom scanned the list.  “I can only order one thing from you and one from Theresa.”   

Great! I clapped my hands and jumped up and down.  My first sale!  This is easy.  I wondered if there was a limit on how many prizes I could earn.  Unfortunately, though I didn’t know it at the time, my first sale would be my last.

That Saturday I set out on a mission to earn some prizes.  I started with the house next to ours.  Helen and Champ, an older couple who had been our neighbors for years, lived there.  In the fall we raked the leaves from their yard.  In the winter, we shoveled the snow off their walk. Surely they would want some peanuts and wrapping paper, I thought. 

Feeling shy and uncertain, I walked over and knocked on the door.  I fidgeted on my toes until Helen answered.  “Would you like to buy some items from my school?” I blurted as I shoved the order list toward Helen. 

Helen held up her hands and shook her head.  “I’m sorry.” she said, “My granddaughter was selling the same thing for her school so I already bought some.”

“Oh. OK. Thanks” I muttered as I slouched off Helen’s porch.  That hadn't gone well at all. 

For the next half hour I walked, stopped and knocked.  And, for the next half hour, I was met with rejection upon rejection.  “I already bought from another kid.” One neighbor said.  “The items are much too expensive.” Another confessed.  “I just don’t need anything you’re selling” A third admitted.

By the time I arrived at the end of the block I had also arrived at a couple of conclusions.  First, I didn’t like selling door to door. And second, I wasn’t going to earn any of the cool prizes.  I don’t think I ever tried selling door to door after that.  It was too traumatic.

Knowing how brutal my attempts at sales had been, could I really let my own son head out to meet the same fate?  Would his fragile ego ever recover from all of that rejection?  Would this be the one event in his life that smashed his self-confidence forever? Would I have to buy thirty-six canisters of popcorn just so he could get a prize that I could buy at Target for nineteen dollars?  Or was I projecting my own anxieties onto my son?

I decided to risk it. 

When I arrived home from work on Monday, Eric was standing in the living room dressed in his navy blue Cub Scout uniform.  His hair was brushed and his yellow scarf was tied neatly around his neck.  Ken was sitting on the couch reviewing the order form and practicing what Eric should say when he knocked on each door.

A few minutes later, I was on the sidewalk watching Eric knock on the door of the house next to ours.  Our neighbor, Kevin, listened while Eric gave his speech.  “Hello, my name is Eric and I’m selling popcorn so my boy scout troop can go to summer camp.  Would you like to buy some?”  Eric pushed the order form toward Kevin.

I beamed at what a nice job Eric had done.  Who could resist that smile? Surely, Kevin would buy at least ten canisters.  Eric would be rolling in prizes.  But Kevin didn't take the order form from Eric.  Instead he said "Kyle is in the scouts too.  We'll be out selling later today."

My heart sank.  My stomach turned.  My palms were clammy.  I braced for the tears.  Would this be the moment that shattered Eric's confidence?  Would he lose all hope?  Where would I get enough money to buy all of that popcorn? And did anyone know the name of a good child psychologist? 

But Eric didn’t shatter into a thousand pieces.  Instead, he smiled back at Kevin. “Tell Kyle I said good luck selling! And thanks!” 

"Sorry buddy." I said.  "I didn't know Kyle was a Boy Scout."

Eric shrugged it off.  "I guess he's in another den." He chirped as he hopped down the walkway.  “Come on Mom, let’s get going and try the next house.”

Fortunately, things went better at the next house.  And the one after that.  And the one after that.  At the end of an hour, Eric had sold almost enough popcorn to earn the Legos.  More importantly, he still had his self-confidence. 

That night after Eric had changed into his jammies I sat down and reviewed his order form.  “You did a really nice job today.” I told him.

“Thanks.” He smiled. “It was a lot of fun.”

I let out a long breath and muttered.  “And it wasn’t nearly as painful as I remembered.”

P.S.  And thanks to everyone who bought pop corn.  Your investment helps Eric go to camp this summer and saves me paying his future therapy bills.