The Rock Economy Crashed and I Refused to Print a Bailout: Four Failed Kid Businesses, Ranked
Photo: Luis Toro from Denver, CO, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons
The Investment Portfolio of Children
This summer I became a venture capitalist. My total capital outlay: $40. My returns: $6.75, three pounds of wet dog towel, and a bucket of rocks that I am legally and emotionally stuck with.
It was the best money I ever spent, and I'd like to walk you through the portfolio, worst to slightly less worst.
No. 4: The Dog Washing Service (Revenue: $0)
My 10-year-old posted handwritten flyers around the block advertising 'DOG WASHING, $5, WE HAVE SOAP.' We do not have a dog. The flyers did not include a phone number, an address, or a business name. One neighbor called me to ask if we were okay.
No dogs were washed. When I suggested he might want to add contact information, he said, 'It's more about the concept.' I let it go. He learned that a business needs customers, and customers need to be able to find you. This is genuinely a lesson some MBA programs skip.
No. 3: The Mystery Service (Revenue: $0, Details Unknown)
The 7-year-old offered a service to the family that she refused to describe until after purchase. Price: $2. My spouse paid. The service turned out to be 'a hug and a dance.' The dance lasted nine seconds. She has not made a second sale, but she has made a repeat-customer problem that will follow her for life, because we both want the dance again and she says it's a 'one-time offer.'
Honestly? That's scarcity marketing. I'm not worried about her.
No. 2: The Rock Emporium (Revenue: $4)
My son sold rocks. Not decorated rocks. Not special rocks. Rocks, from the yard, at $1 each, arranged on a folding table with a sign reading 'ROCKS, THEY ARE GOOD.'
I bought one. My spouse bought one. A jogger — possibly out of pity, possibly as performance art — bought two. Total: $4.
The temptation here was enormous. I wanted to say, 'Buddy, what if we painted them? What if we called them fairy garden stones? People pay $8 for fairy garden stones!' But that's not his business. That's my business wearing his face. The whole point of a rock emporium is that it belongs to the rock guy.
No. 1: The Lemonade Stand (Revenue: $2.75, Losses: Everything)
The classic. She priced lemonade at 25 cents, spent $12 on supplies, and sold eleven cups, four of which were to family members who had already paid for supplies. She spent the last hour of the stand sitting in a camping chair reading a graphic novel while traffic went by.
I did not stand on the corner shouting 'LEMONADE.' I did not text the group chat. I did not become her PR department, because the moment a parent starts promoting a lemonade stand, the kid learns nothing except that Mom will handle marketing.
She did the math herself at the end of the day: 'I lost money.' I said, 'Yep. What would you change?' She said, 'Charge a dollar. Sell cookies too. Set up where the pool is.' That's a better strategic review than most corporate off-sites produce.
How to Keep Your Mouth Shut (A Practical Guide)
- Give capital, not consulting. Money up front, opinions never, unless asked.
- When they ask for feedback, ask questions back. 'What do you think went wrong?' beats 'Everything, and also your sign is misspelled.'
- Never rescue the balance sheet. The $12 in supplies is tuition. Do not refund tuition.
- Praise the process, not the revenue. 'You set up and ran a whole business' is true even when the business is rocks.
The Dividend
My kids learned that customers are hard, pricing matters, signage is load-bearing, and failure is survivable — all for less than the cost of a family movie night. The $40 didn't buy lemonade or dog washes. It bought four small, cheap, glorious crashes, and kids who are already planning next summer's ventures.
The rock guy wants to expand. I've told him he'll need to pitch me. He's preparing a slide deck. It's one slide. It's a picture of a rock. He's going to be fine.
