David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published Sept. 24, 2002

No parental solicitations
-- it's my policy

No parental solicitations in lieu of their children's efforts. That's my policy, and I'm sticking to it. If I'm going to buy, the kids need to sell.

We in Knox County are smack dab in the middle of the annual coupon book sale. Every year -- when the nights get a tad longer and the leaves start to flitter from the trees - our community's scholarly youth ring neighbors' doorbells, set up tables in front of grocery stores and even converge on Neyland Stadium to sell the school-sponsored coupon books.

Proceeds from the sale go toward the betterment of the school system, undeniably a worthwhile cause. The books sell for 10 bucks and have hundreds of coupons featuring an assortment of merchants. It's actually a pretty good deal, as long as you remember you bought the darn thing when it comes time to get a 60,000-mile tune-up, rent a tuxedo, order a pizza or do whatever it is. My problem is that I never remember to flip through the coupon book until it's too late.

"Awww, man! We could have saved 20 percent on that spackle we bought last week." That's me all right.

Earlier this month one of the neighborhood urchins rang my doorbell and offered to sell me a coupon book. I bought one, and the little girl was very grateful. Seeing the smile on her face reminded me of my parental solicitations policy. (It doesn't come into play much these days, now that I'm a part-time drone and full-time Dad, but I'll be a full-time cog in a few years. The policy shall carry on.)

The truth is, I'll buy almost anything a little kid tries to sell me, provided that he makes the effort and doesn't ask Mom or Dad to do his work for him. That's the core of my policy, really. I reward the effort. That's a good lesson for kids to learn, don't you think?

We working stiffs know the drill all too well. A co-worker's child is selling something as a school project or for the Scout troop or whatever. Cookies, doughnuts, sodas, coupon books, raffle tickets, T-shirts, "collectible" snowglobes, car washes, candy bars -- there's no shortage of overpriced merchandise for sale in the name of child betterment. If you have many co-workers, you can find yourself with a year's worth of candy bars and enough raffle tickets to all but statistically guarantee the grand prize.

How many snowglobes does one man need anyway?

It got to be too much. I'd buy, say, a candy bar from a co-worker who was selling them for his son, but when the neighborhood kids hit me up I had to politely tell them no. By then I'd had my fill of $2 chocolate bars.

When I looked at the situation, I realized I was patronizing the wrong seller. A kid who takes the time to hit the streets and ring doorbells deserves a sale more than a kid who gives Dad the order form as he leaves for work.

It also got me to reflect on my own days as a wee lad. I was forced into selling all sorts of junk and soliciting donations for a number of endeavors -- candy bars for school, donations for the Cub Scouts, you name it. My parents wouldn't sell the stuff for me anymore than they'd do my homework for me. They HELPED me do it, but they weren't going to do the work FOR me.

So I walked from house to house and nervously rang strange doorbells. It was pretty scary for a little kid, but I screwed up my courage and did it.

At the end of the selling period, there was always that moment of truth when I found out whether I sold enough candy bars to win a prize. I had pounded the pavement, had rung doorbells and had run away from large dogs guarding the porch. My total was respectable, but would it be enough?

Invariably, no. There was always some kid who sold five or 10 times as many candy bars as anyone else. He won the contest and got the cool inflatable two-man raft as the grand prize, even though everyone knew he didn't do the work. His parents did it all. No 9-year-old can sell 700 candy bars without some serious parental solicitation.

No one cared. The powers-that-be were happy that he sold the 700 candy bars and added to their operating budget. The world of sales is driven by the bottom line. Results are all that matter to some folks. It was true then, and it's true today. Who said life was fair? When life becomes fair, you let me know.

I feel comfortable with my "no parental solicitation" policy. It works. I feel like I'm adding some small measure of fairness to the world. Even parents who sell stuff for their kids seem to be OK with it. No hard feelings -- it's just my policy.

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David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@chartertn.net.