My Wheelchair Is Not A Lemon

  One hot summer day, my sister and I decided to set up a lemonade stand.

"I'm going to make the lemonade, because you make it too sweet," my sister insisted.

"Fine, I get to bake the cookies," I said.

"Will you leave a few in there a little longer?" she asked. My sister had a taste for slightly burnt cookies.

"No, these are for the customers," I frowned. "Unless you don't want to make money."

"Okay. What are we going to use for the stand?" she asked.

  There was a foldable card table in the utility room. I suggested that. We also got some paper and markers to make signs: Lemonade - 50 cents & Cookies 25 cents. We loaded our supplies in a box, set it in my wheelchair and toted everything outside.

  My sister and I set to work making our table presentable. I set a little shoe box, with a change jar beside it, on my wheelchair. This served as our cash register. My sister walked down to the corner of our street and posted a 'Lemonade For Sale' sign, complete with an arrow facing our house, on the stop sign.

"Lemonade! Cookies! Quench your thirst and have a snack!" my sister and I shouted to passersby.

  People walking their dogs, riding their bikes and even some drivers stopped and purchased our treats. Soon we had to restock on lemonade and I even let my sister handle the next batch of cookies. It was no surprise that some of them wound up burnt. I couldn't be too upset though, we sold most of our stock.

  As we were getting ready to set up our final batch of cookies and lemonade, one of my sister's friends came walking up. She looked really upset.

"You knew I was having a lemonade stand today!" she accused my sister.

  My sister's friend lived at the other end of our street and often she and my sister found themselves in competition. When my sister asked me to help her with the lemonade stand I'd agreed because it was something she and I enjoyed doing together. Now I could see that there was more to this than she'd let on.

"I can't believe you played the 'handicapped sister card!'" I said to my sister. I tried to sound disappointed, but she was young and I probably would have done the same at her age.

"You should give me your money," her friend insisted, to which my sister got defensive. Being the mediator between my siblings I stepped in.

"We're not giving up this money, because half of it's mine," I said, "However, I have an idea - let's combine our lemonade stands and we'll split the money three ways," I resolved.

"Okay," they agreed.

  My sister helped her friend bring everything from her stand over to ours. Her friend made pink lemonade and cookies with M&M's. Much to my sister's delight, many of the cookies were burnt. Together, we sold most of our stock. After three hours we were tired of sitting outside and decided to call it an afternoon. We took the stand down. My sister put the remaining lemonade in our refrigerator.

  The three of us sat outside together, counting our earnings. Aside from the sales, we'd been given tips. Our total collection came out to thirty-three dollars. We each took eleven.

"Let's do this again next weekend," my sister's friend said enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I bet we could really earn money if you sat in your wheelchair next time," my sister said.

  There are very few times I feel I've taught my siblings anything of value. This was one moment I hope made a lasting impression.

"I bet we could," I said, "but would that be right?" I asked my sister. She started to say something and then saw the look on my face.

"No?" she guessed.

"No." I confirmed.