Candles For Sale

                                Candles For Sale

I’m picking up my grandson, Johnny, after school. I spot him walking across the lawn, coming toward me with his friend, Ryan. Both are 8th graders.

They pile into the back seat. I notice each is carrying what looks like a magazine. “What’s that?” I ask pointing at the magazine.

“It’s a catalog,” Johnny says.

“May I see it?” I say reaching for the magazine.

I flip through it, noticing mostly glossy images of candles and prices. “We’re selling those.” John says. 
I pause, collecting my thoughts.

“John,” I say, “I only say this because I don’t want you to be disappointed, but nobody wants to buy these things.”

John replies, “It’s for the 8th grade dance.”

“I know all about it,” I offer in my know-it-all tone, then add, “tell you what, I’ll donate ten dollars to the dance, but you can keep the candles. How much do you make for each candle you sell?”

Ryan pipes in, “Twenty percent.”

“OK,” I say, “so if a candle is twenty dollars, you make four dollars. So I’ll give you twelve dollars. That’s like selling three candles.”

“We can’t do that,” John says.

“I know, I know,” I say, “but honestly, I don’t understand why you can’t do that. You’d make twelve dollars. Isn’t that the point?”

“We can’t,” Ryan says in a soft apologetic voice.

I’ve tried this strategy before, must be a hundred times, over the last forty years, beginning with my two daughters, selling candy bars mostly, but also oversized popcorn tins, and I think also, candles. Now it’s the grand-kids. Why are contributions not accepted? Don’t ask. It’s always a no. Somebody should change the rules, I think.

The boys are silent.

“So Ryan, you’re coming to John’s house?”

“Uh huh,” he responds.

Along the way, I notice a neighbor out on his front lawn. “Here,” I say, “why don’t we stop and ask this guy - what’s his name? - if he wants to buy a candle. That will prove my point. I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”  I say this in the nicest, most loving tone I can muster. 

No comment from the boys. Of course I really wasn’t going to stop.

Further along we pass a middle age man strolling down the sidewalk. He’s a familiar figure, always out walking about. “How about this guy,” I say.  Again, no comment.

I let the whole issue drop. I just hope they’re not disappointed, that’s all.

I pull into the driveway. The boys get out, go inside for some snacks. I stay in the car. Open my computer. I start to read the Times newspaper, online.

Time passes. I look up from the news. Gosh, almost an has hour gone by. A few minutes later I notice Johnny and Ryan walking up the driveway from the front sidewalk. They’re carrying their catalogs and some other papers. I immediately surmise that they were out selling candles. Poor kids, I think.

I surmise that the papers in their hands are order forms. Maybe they actually sold one, I think. 
I lean toward them and shout through the open car window. “Where were you guys?” I say.

“Selling candles,” they reply.

“How’d it go?” I ask.

“We sold fifteen candles,” John says, “almost two hundred dollars.”

Hmmmm. So much for grandpa’s wisdom.

As for the innocence and faith of youth, One word: beautiful.