African-American Dad's recent post about his young son's ebaY interest, reminded me of my days as west3boy.
I was still a first-grader, if I remember correctly, so I guess I would've been around seven- or eight-years-old. One school-day evening, I was hanging off of the couch, upside-down, as little kids tend to do, when gravity reached up and grabbed some change out of my pockets. It fell on the floor with a "ching-a-ling" sound.
My mother, who was sitting in the dining room at the time, looked to see what caused the sound. When she saw the money, she reacted in a way that surprised (and intimidated) me.
"Where'd you get that money?!" It was an accusatory tone, but I was too shocked and shitless to be offended.
"F-f-f-from schooooooool," I sang in traditional youngster fashion.
I told her the truth. "I tore pages out of my color book and then sold them to the other kids."
I'd like to tell you that my mom was as amused by my entrepreneurial spirit as most folks are when they hear this story, but the truth is that I was so scared that don't really remember how she reacted at the time. I think she may have prompted me for more beans, which my sense of self-preservation made me more than happy to spill.
In the years since then, she cracks up as she proudly retells the story to others, but I'm pretty sure she omits the part where she thought her kid was thievin' lil bastard.
I wonder if I should tell her that I also used to sell my milk, at lunch (since I couldn't drink it, anyway).