My daughter and her cousin are on the front stoop, selling lemonade. Business is slow; we live on a quiet street. Then along come a half-dozen college-age gals in running gear, strolling up from the direction of the nearby subway.
"Lemonade! Get your lemonade!" the girls cry out, for no reason but the love of yelling, since their customers are already slowing.
"How much?" asks one.
"Twenty-five cents!" the girls chime.
"I'll take a cup," says the college gal, affably. "I'm totally parched." Every one of them follows suit, until the lemonade is all sold out.
Turns out they're in town for a track meet. I think appreciatively about the positive role modeling for my girls.
"Where are you all from?" I ask.
"Utah State."
I wonder if they can make out the T-shirt I've got on, bearing the name of our region's gay family organization. Surely they haven't missed the two marriage equality signs still in our front garden, years after the ballot measure that so bruised our state. A battle famously funded by the largest institution in their state, the Mormon Church. What's their take? Defiance? Chagrin?
None of these are questions I'm inclined to ask at the lemonade stand.
Instead, I offer, "Welcome to sunny California!" Which I sincerely mean. Here we are, I think. The family you hear so much about these days.
The gals knock back their drinks, smile, offer goodbyes, and walk off.
"What are the chances, eh, kids?"
"Yeah," says my daughter, happily. "They were the perfect customers."
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