The Candyman

Each afternoon when I pick up my 12-year-old son from school, we perform a time-honored ritual that’s shared by millions of moms and sons every single day.

(begin scene)

“How was school?” I ask him.

“Fine,” he answers.

“What happened today?” I ask him.

“Nothing,” he answers.

(end scene)

Of course, I usually press him until I get more answers, but often he’s right: School is really boring and what happens there is generally better left unsaid.

Last week, though, he shared some interesting new information.

“Some kids are selling candy between classes for 50 cents per piece, and everyone’s buying it,” he told me. “But then at lunch, Matt found a bag of 250 pieces of candy on Amazon for $10. So Matt and Flynn and I are all going to put in money to buy it and then we’re going to sell candy for 25 cents apiece!”

Now this was the kind of school story I liked hearing — One that involved intrigue, one-ups-man-ship, math skills, and cold, hard cash.

“That’s a great idea!” I said. “You could really make some money!”

“I know!” he said, a pleased grin on his face.

I let the matter drop there, knowing that like most plans made in middle school, this one would almost definitely not come to fruition. Two days later, I was proven wrong.

“How was school?” I asked my son when he got in the car.

“Fine,” he answered.

“What happened today?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he answered. “Oh. Except this.” He unzipped his backpack and pulled out a baggie.

 

“What’s that?” I asked suspiciously.

“Candy money,” he said proudly. I started laughing.

“You guys actually bought that candy on Amazon and sold it?” I asked incredulously.

“Yep, and I made six dollars,” he said. “And I’m going to make even more tomorrow. Because I decided to sell my candy 25 cents apiece OR five for a dollar. So everyone wanted the five-for-a-dollar deal.”

“How much did Flynn make?” I asked him.

“I think four dollars.”

“And how much did Matt make?”

“I think 75 cents,” Bruiser answered. “But that’s because he ate most of his candy himself.”

“And how did the kids who were selling candy for fifty cents apiece react?” I asked him.

“They were mad at first,” Bruiser admitted. “But then they ended up buying from us, too, because they were out of stock.”

I giggled fiendishly. “I’m proud of you, son,” I said. “Just don’t get caught.”

Bruiser came home the next day with eight dollars. The day after that, he made nothing.

“We’re laying low right now,” he explained. “Plus, we’re almost out of candy, so we have to reorder.” The boys realized their customers preferred some candy over others, so they were researching during lunch to find the best deal on candy assortments that included only the most popular varieties.

“We’ve also come up with a new plan,” he said. “For Valentine’s Day, the school lets you buy either a can of soda or a Ring Pop for a dollar,” he told me. “So we’re going to buy Ring Pops and sell them for fifty cents.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked him. “I mean, it’s one thing to undercut your classmates, but do you really want to go up against the school?”

“One dollar is too much for a Ring Pop,” he shrugged.

The kid had a point.

My biggest concern, of course, is that someone from the school will inevitably read this post and snitch and I will get my kid in trouble. Again. But that would be a real shame, because as far as I’m concerned, this candy business is basically the best math class ever. The kids are learning lessons they’ll use for the rest of their lives.

 

My son, the Candyman. The dull school grind has suddenly gotten a lot sweeter.

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