πThe Lemonade Stand π
Aug 18, 2025
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(A hot day, a moral crisis and a dollar well spent.)
It’s hot around here. Sometimes that happens in August. You rethink things like walking the dog and opening your front door. School's in session. Our kids go back the first week of August, so summer is coming to a close for them.
This might explain the sudden entrepreneurial frenzy.
Kids are hauling out fold-up tables, Sharpie-scribbled signs, and pitchers of lemonade that may or may not have seen refrigeration in the last hour. They’re setting up shop on corners, driveways and some questionable blind curves in a sidewalk-less neighborhood.
Now, I love lemonade stands. I have a deeply held belief that if you see a child running a lemonade stand, and you have a dollar in your car, it’s your moral obligation to stop. These are the rules. I don’t make them. I just follow them. (Also, if you don’t have dollar, go home and get one.)
So, I stopped.
And then I realized it’s a blind corner. I don’t really want to sacrifice my car for lemonade. I move my car down a couple driveways on safer ground and walk back. As I walk, I start to think about this particular stand has a terrible location. The cars can’t pull over safely because of the blind curve. I feel like they’re too close to the road. I can see bees swarming and taking an unhealthy interest in the sugar supply.
By now, they have figured out I am a customer, and they are delighted. I am their first customer. Woot! We fist bump, I make a big deal of giving them a dollar and keep the change. (50 cents a glass π)
While I’m sipping my lukewarm lemonade and they are sharing their business plan (a.k.a. how they will be spending their profits), I begin composing a full-on adult lecture in my head about placement and safety.
I think about saying something. I picture myself gently offering “advice.” You know, as a helpful adult.
And I remember:
Their moms are likely watching from a shaded porch.
The kids are having fun.
No one asked my urban planning opinion.
Maybe, just maybe (I can’t believe I’m writing this) it just looks unsafe because my own kids aren’t in this season. Maybe they’ve thought it through. Maybe they haven’t. Regardless, they’re out here, trying. Sweating. Offering joy in paper cups.
So, I keep my mouth shut.
I sip the lemonade like its sparkling gold, and I walk away.
Sometimes the most loving thing we can do is not give our opinion.
And sometimes the best gift we can give, to others and ourselves, is the choice not to make everything our responsibility.
Go find a lemonade stand and cheer some kids on,
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