The Schneider Family Website

Every year we go up and down our middle class street selling cookie dough as a fundraiser for cheerleading.  I took both girls on our solicitation mission, the littlest, seven years old at the time, who frequently misspeaks but comes very close with her near misses, and my oldest who is very smart and well spoken though not always very tolerant of discomfort.

When we were all the way down at the other end of the street my oldest started complaining of being thirsty.  We walked up to a house with the garage door open with hopes of making a sale and as we did, I saw a man in there with blue jeans and a black tee shirt, a cigarette hanging from his lips, a few tattoos, a goatee with unshaven surroundings and a pony tail.  I also saw a rather shiny, chromed out Harley in there.  This guy was a genuine biker.

My oldest fearlessly announced what we were doing and the man said in a gruff voice, "Hold on.  Let me go get my woman.  She don't let me have any money 'cuz she's afraid I'll jump on that thing (pointing to his bike) and go to the bar."

The man briefly left and when he returned we started talking about various guy things, tools, bikes and stuff.  Despite his appearance, he was a pretty decent guy.  He introduced himself as "Flip" and offered the girls a each a Gatorade.  They both looked at me for the nod of approval which, upon seeing two sealed bottles, I gave.  The girls were very appreciative and thanked Flip for his timely generosity.

His woman came out, looked over the choices of cookie dough, and after conferring with he man, bought two tubs.

We thanked them for their support and again for the Gatorade, shook hands and headed down the driveway. As we did, my littlest girl asked me, "Did he say his name was Flop?"

I'm glad he didn't give me a Gatorade because I would have sprayed it all over the place.

Most Viewed

Random Image

Most Recent