I am such a sucker

The other night I bought a heinously overpriced box of gummy bears in the parking lot of Target. Two young boys, maybe 11 or 12 years old, approached me with friendly smiles. Each of them lugged a duffel bag, aged to two varying shades of worn out gray. "Hello, Miss may I just have a minute of your time?" I tried to ignore the polite greeting and go my own way, but I detected a note of desperation in this kid's voice that reminded me of my own youth and the traces of desperation that would escape my lips as I trudged around with my own little sack containing magazines, Girl Scout cookies, and useless trinkets to peddle for various fundraising purposes. I sighed and stopped to listen as the kid rattled off his list of sweet treats, hazelnut brittle, chocolate chip cookies, gummy bears, and green-tea-with-antioxidants-good-for-the-health (this kid was good!) I then remembered just how much I dreaded the times of year when our troop or classroom would gear up for the annual ___-sale fundraiser since I was almost certain to end up with the least amount of sales. I could only buy so much for myself using my small allowance and the notion of buying fundraising goodies was somewhat bizarre my Korean relatives who did not really have a taste for American sweets or periodicals; and even though my parents owned their own restaurant, they couldn't really hock my wares because well, my parents are immigrants and they were always busy running the show. And so every now and then, when my desire to not-be-last would overtake my childhood shyness, I would opt for the door to door route and feel bitter that my parents did not work in offices with many cubicles filled with co-workers bursting at the seams to buy one another's unnecessary items. Feel bitter when I should have felt grateful that my parents worked all day, every day. So there I was, in the parking lot at Target, lost in a reverie of youth and holding a $7 box of gummy bears.