Every time one generation gets close to retiring, there’s a little hesitancy about handing over the reigns to the next generation. I mean, really, can they handle it? These “kids” are so full of themselves and they think they know everything. Whenever I think this, I remember how cocky my generation was, and how we were so positive we could fix all of the world’s problems. And then I laugh to myself.
I think it’s easier to be the “grandparent” generation. They’ve proven themselves, they’re retired and they survived when their children’s generation was “in charge.” And now they’re looking forward to seeing what their grandchildren’s generation will do. I’m not there yet, but my parents are, and they’re very calm about this next generation. Maybe that’s because they have no debt and can live comfortably on very little money. Plus they can grow most of their own food. I, on the other hand, have been instructed not only by my husband, but also by our favorite nursery owner, not to touch anything green that I want to live. If we have to depend on my gardening skills to eat, we’re in deep, deep trouble.
And that brings me to the point of this post. There are some pretty amazing young people living on the cul-de-sac across the street from us. If Mike & I had had children when most of our contemporaries were having children, these kids could be our grandchildren’s age. They’re around 8-12 years old. Several summers ago, they rang my doorbell, and asked if I needed any help with our yard. They would pull weeds, mow, rake – whatever we needed. I declined, foolishly thinking since I still had young adults living in my house, they would happily help with yard work in exchange for the joy of living here. HA! I wish I had known the kids’ names; I would have looked them up and begged them to come back at double the pay.
The next year, they came back. This time they were selling cookie dough. This wasn’t for a school project, these kids were doing it as a business. (And kudos to their parents for teaching their kids to work for what they wanted.) Jon was the only one home, and he wasn’t interested in baking cookies. But those kids are really cute, so he gave them money for dough and said, “Just buy yourself some extra dough. If you want, you can bring me a couple cookies after you’ve baked them.” We all thought they’d just pocket the money and forget us. But about a month later, the doorbell rang again. “Um, one of the guys living here paid for some cookie dough…” Jon heard the exchange and came to the door to accept a bag of freshly baked cookies.
Last summer, they had a lemonade stand under the tree at the corner. Every. Single. Weekend. (Please don’t report them to whoever decides enterprising young children need to have a business license for a lemonade stand. Adults with a yard sale every week don’t need one, so don’t punish the kids or kill their entrepreneurial spirit!) While other kids were playing or swimming, they were hawking lemonade. Or juice. Or tea. The cookie baker – who, by now knew we were an easy mark – even came to the door and offered to bring me cups of their weekly juice. I declined, but invested $5 in her business.
I don’t know what kind of a job the generation after mine will do, but I have lots of confidence in the “grand-generation.” Besides the neighbors who have impressed me greatly, there’s a little two-month old who is brilliant and will go far in life. I just know it!
Thanks for stopping by Stamping with Buffy. Have a wonderful day!