Not Far from the Tree – Short Story

Posted by Brad Osborne on October 17, 2021 · 25 Comments 

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My father was a salesman. One of the best. He could sell ketchup popsicles to a woman in white gloves in August. His work with a local manufacturing company had him on the road most days covering a territory that ranged from North Carolina to Maine. He drove more miles in a month than some drive in a year. And in his travels, he took advantage of this access to other states and their goods.

One of these advantages was access to fireworks from states in the south that were banned for use in Pennsylvania. It is a common purchase for families travelling who hope to impress friends and family at their next celebration at home. Not being one to pass up on a bargain, my father bought a huge number of different fireworks and smuggled them back into the state. I am not sure what his original intentions were for them, but at some point, he gave me the box with explicit instructions on being careful when playing with them with my neighborhood friends. Hey, that was good parenting back then. Remember, we didn’t have seat belts then either.

After some testing with the local lads in a farmer’s field near the house, I still had a ton of fireworks left. I saw an opportunity and went full entrepreneur. I made a price list for all the wonderfully named products and distributed it to classmates at school. They would place their orders, and I would deliver them at school the next day and get paid cash on the barrel head. My zero costs business model made for a huge profit margin. Something my accounting friends can appreciate, Jim. Although, nothing was priced at more than a dollar and a half, I was making a good bit of change through sheer volume.

Sadly, within a few days of starting my enterprise, one of my customers got caught in class with the price list. It didn’t take a detective for it to lead back to me. I had written my name, homeroom class number, and telephone number at the top of each. Needless to say, I was forced to cease and desist. An eventuality that could not have been avoided at some point, as I had no plans on how to restock my wares.

After my troubles at school, I anticipated what punishments may lie ahead for me at home. My mother, also a public-school teacher, was embarrassed and upset (again). But as would often happen, she was going to leave the heavy-handed punishment to my father when he got home. My father made me recall my plot from beginning to end. And, although he may have felt a need for some form of punishment, he also seemed somewhat proud at my entrepreneurial spirit and innate sales ability. In the end, my only punishment was having the remaining fireworks confiscated. In his wisdom, the old man knew that the tree doesn’t get to tell the acorn where to fall.

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Filed under General · Tagged with acorn, entrepreneur, father, fireworks, goods, money, parenting, pride, punishment, sales, school, short story, travel, tree, trouble