“I’m tired,” my son intoned as he sprawled across a chair on a neighbor’s front porch.

We were making the neighborhood rounds in an effort to support his school. The goods we were peddling: trash bags.

Yes, you heard me right. Trash bags.

I’ve seen a lot of fundraisers in my life, but never trash bags.

I also bemoan most fundraisers I encounter. This is because the strange list of foods that do not treat my body kindly is far from short. It’s rare I can find a cookie dough, pizza or baked good I can eat. Supporting local youth in fundraisers is something I enjoy, and whenever I come across something that isn’t food-related, you can count me in. This goes double if the item being sold happens to be a plant or flower.

Yet, I was in the heat with a listless tween who was not particularly humored by our quest.

I shared with him my own door-to-door sales experience, which was with Girl Scout cookies. Gosh, I loved Girl Scout cookie time.

Mom and I would take a full day and we would go as long as I could before calling it quits. Savvy readers remember Girl Scout cookie season tends to fall in February.

I would often contend with frigid weather, bundled so much I could barely walk down the street. Another obstacle was the timing. Cookie sales often started at the beginning of Lent, when many people had “given up” sweets. For those who weren’t giving them up for religious reasons, their New Year resolution was still recent enough in memory to be their deterrent. Sigh.

Once my freezing Saturday was complete, I would get to take a special trip to my parents’ offices to peddle cookies. There was no “cookie sheet in the break room” for my parents. No, I was going to hustle for our sales.

One of my most memorable customers was Mr. Skinner. He was my father’s coworker and was the oldest adult I talked to outside of my family.

As a 6-year-old girl, he seemed old and scary to me.

Every year, I would go to my dad’s office and Mr. Skinner would want to meet with me. I would sit in his office and he would quiz me. What are the new cookies? Do you have a favorite cookie? Are you working toward a goal? How many boxes do you want to sell? Are you going to use your cookie sales to go to summer camp?

I had to swallow my fear and answer every question.

And I’m a better person for it.

When my husband and I were married, Mr. Skinner again wanted to talk. He came to my parents’ house, where we visited for about an hour. He no longer seemed so old or so scary.

As my son embarked on his school’s fundraiser of choice, I reflected on all of these memories and decided the best way for him to learn was to hit the streets.

We printed out a script of what he would say. We walked from house to house. We rang doorbells. He peered in windows. He talked to adults.

Not once did I think “I should just post online and ask people to order there.”

While walking through the snow was a harrowing experience at times, the skills I learned while selling Girl Scout cookies were invaluable. I wouldn’t trade them for anything, and wish my son to learn the same skills, which is why we pounded the pavement, selling trash bags.

Bonar is the editor/publisher of the I-R and can be reached at kbonar@indyrepnews. com.