In kindergarten I seated myself in front of our old, drafty house on Dixwell Avenue, took a deep breath, and let the world know that seashells, fresh from the Connecticut shore, could be had for just five cents. I only remember one commission, a small translucent yellow shell sold to a mustache man who insisted on paying me a quarter no matter how many times I asked for a nickel. I suggested that maybe he could give it to his wife, and all the grown-ups laughed. I hadn't thought of that memory for years.
In kindergarten I seated myself in front of our old, drafty house on Dixwell Avenue, took a deep breath, and let the world know that seashells, fresh from the Connecticut shore, could be had for just five cents. I only remember one commission, a small translucent yellow shell sold to a mustache man who insisted on paying me a quarter no matter how many times I asked for a nickel. I suggested that maybe he could give it to his wife, and all the grown-ups laughed. I hadn't thought of that memory for years.
There's something very optimistic, and very touching, about a child assuming that strangers will see value in the things that they themselves treasure. Maybe it's just the clear weather, but the world seems somehow better, goodness breaking out all over.
3 comments:
Just an added funny note of information: the "caterpillars" on offer were pine sawfly larvae I got them to pick off our poor eaten-up bushes.
I love it! Especially the "only one" bit.
Good times on Dixwell Avenue...I wish we could find another house with petrified chocolate chips included (or whatever those were).
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