Click hereClick here

You never know who is going to ring your doorbell. This time it was grade school drug dealers...or so I thought as I heard my son answer the door and say to the two boys standing there, “Don't worry...I'll bring the money tomorrow. “I've got it in my backpack. You just bring the stuff.”

My son closed the door and came to the dinner table, while we all stared at him.

“Who was that?” I asked, envisioning what he might look like in a bright orange jumpsuit.

“Nobody,” he said, digging into his spaghetti. “Just some neighbor kids.”

“What did they want?”

“They wanted their money back.”

“What do you mean, money?” I asked, thinking I might need a haircut for the newspaper photos of me sending my son off to jail. “Where did you get this money?”

My son shrugged. “Selling stuff.”

I dropped my fork. “Selling? What were you selling?” I croaked.

My son continued to shovel spaghetti in his mouth. “Just rocks.”

I stared at him. “Rocks?”

He grinned. “Yeah. Brian and I found some rocks by the side of the road. We're going to be rich!”

I took a drink of water. “Let me get this straight,” I said, “You sold rocks to people?”

He nodded.

“And they bought them?”

He nodded again.

“What kind of a person would pay money for a rock?” I asked, shaking my head.

“Our neighbors.”

I choked on a meatball. “Our neighbors? You sold rocks to our neighbors?”

He sighed. “Yeah. A lot of people weren't home. And some people told us “Maybe later”, but a couple of people bought them.”

I groaned. “Don't tell me you sold a rock to the sweet old lady down the street.”

“What?” he asked, looking hurt. “They only bought the little ones. People said they couldn't afford the one that was thirty dollars.”

“Thirty dollars!”

He smiled, getting excited. “Yeah it's really big and pretty! Maybe you'd want to buy it!”

I stood up. “Son. You can not go around to people's doors selling them rocks.”

“Why not?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Because,” I said, feeling hysterical. “It just isn't done! People don't want to buy rocks...they can get them out of their own driveways. You can't take people's hard earned money and give them a rock.”

My son looked crestfallen.

I sighed. “Okay, okay. Just go and give half of the money to your friends, and then come back and finish your dinner. And no more door to door rock sales, okay?”

My son popped up out of his chair. “Okay Mom!” he yelled, as he dashed out the door.

Forty-five minutes later he hadn't returned. I turned to my daughter. “I thought I told you to get your brother from the neighbor's house five minutes ago.”

She looked up from her magazine. “I did.”

“Where is he?”

She closed her magazine. “I couldn't get him to come. He was too busy talking to people.”

“What people?”

“The people walking by. You told him he couldn't go door to door, so he and Brian are wearing signs on their chests that say, “Rocks for Sale,” and they are chasing the people that are walking by the house to the school musical.”

I buried my head in my hands. My son, the entrepreneur. Anyone who could convince someone to buy a rock had a bright future in sales. Again, I had to ask myself? What kind of a person would buy a rock?

Later that night my son bounded into my room. “Hey Mom, check out this pretty rock! Aren't the speckles cool? It looks like a dinosaur egg.”

I picked up the rock. “Very pretty,” I said.

He grinned, showing me his two crooked front teeth that hadn't grown in yet. “Wanna buy it?” he asked.

I looked at his smiling, freckled cheeks. “What would I do with a rock?” I asked.

“You could put it on your dresser as a decoration! See how pretty it looks?” His large brown eyes were shining and hopeful.

I sighed. “How much?”

“Three dollars.”

“Three dollars!”

He looked thoughtful. “Okay. Since you're my mom, I'll let you have it for a dollar.”

I always was a sucker for a bargain. Maybe I could pass it off as a fishing lure and give it to my husband for Christmas.

I looked at the shiny rock and remembered how my son's eyes had shone with excitement. I decided to keep it on my dresser, right next to the lopsided clay bowl he made me for my birthday. Eventually that beautiful boy would leave my home, and I would need something to remember him by. I guess I was the kind of person who would pay money for a rock. Especially when it came from a red-haired, freckled faced, crooked-toothed boy who had captured my heart.