I’m a pretty tough cookie. I’ll be the first to admit it. I’ve been called a plethora of different adjectives from tough, to stubborn, to persistent, to selfish. I take all of them as compliments. In some way, being a tough cookie embraces all of these, but not necessarily in a negative light.

As with most personality traits, this particular one came from life experiences. I’m sure there are many things over the course of my childhood and even into my adulthood that molded me into the tough one I am today, but, in my opinion, I can pinpoint it to one yearly event as a child that really taught me am lot about life in the long run.

Girl Scout cookie selling time.

I’ve always been a little competitive by nature, but even I could lose my competitive edge during Girl Scout cookie selling season. In Ohio, this season was winter. The dead of winter. The area I grew up in didn’t have the lake weather a lot of Ohio has, but it still had its bitter cold in the place of snow. Winter in the evenings, after the sun went down, made you want to sit in front of a fire and have some hot chocolate. Not stand outside for two hours knocking on doors, hands frozen from having to keep them out somewhat.

My dad has this great philosophy of earning what you get. Having that feeling that you truly made it work and that it happened because you put your heart and soul into it.  I was taught this lesson more so during cookie time than any other time of the year.

Everyone else would either do one of two things – ignore the snow by either refusing to sell cookies and just having their parents and relatives take forms into work and sell them in the office. This was the easy way of selling enough cookies to pay for Girl Scout camp the next summer.

My dad never let me get off that easy.  He would take the form into work and help me, but not unless I was willing to help myself. At the beginning of the season, we would look at how many were needed to pay for camp, and also what my goal was going to be. Before I ever stepped out of the house to knock on one door, I knew exactly what I needed to accomplish and we would lay out plans as to how that would happen. How many doors I needed to knock on. How long every night I had to spend out attempting to sell these delicious cookies, which usually meant sacrificing my TV watching hours as those were spent doing homework.

After dinner most nights of the week, and after lunch on weekends, I would bundle up in my winter coat, my one or two pairs of gloves, my hat, and scarf, armed with my pens and cookie forms. If it was snowing or raining, I would use the smaller forms that were easily inserted in a plastic ziploc bag to keep them from getting wet.  My dad would map out the route we were to hit. Sometimes it was a new area we’d never tried ever before, sometimes it was one we hadn’t hit yet that year, and sometimes it was going back to an old spot where we happened to have ea bad night and wanted another go.

The process then went as follows. I would be dropped off at the beginning of a block. My dad would then drive a couple blocks down (still within eyesight) and park. My goal? To hit ever house on that side of the street between me and my dad. There was no skipping a house or whining. The only excuse for skipping was a no solicitors sign, and even that had to be explained. Some nights were a fail. But those days where a really big streak was hit, were adrenaline pumpers and even at that age, they gave me the motivation I needed to move on. Every little goal was a victory. Every time someone said no it was a challenge to work harder.

In the end, my parents would reward me with ordering enough cookies to almost last an entire year (which is a lot). I would also get rewarded typically with the most sales of anyone in my troop and leading the sales for the area. I went to camp every year having paid nothing. And every winter, my parents dining room became a cookie distribution warehouse, filled practically wall to The wall with approximately 500+ boxes of cookies. That was when the delivery process would begin, which was a little less stressful, but just as tedious and time consuming.

I was never taught shady selling tactics or how to cheat. Rather, I was taught persistence, planning, and strategy. Above all, I was taught that taking things in stride, even when they seem painful and the path not taken, can really pay off in the end, not just monetarily, but with personal satisfaction.

I don’t think I’ve ever thanked my parents for this, so I guess there’s nothing like a public thank you.  Thank you mom and dad, for always pushing me, never letting me settle for anything but excellence. Thank you mom specifically for putting up with nights of handling the end of the day tasks by yourself. Thank you dad for giving up countless amounts of your time to spend with me. I’m sure sitting in a car for 2 hours every night isn’t the highlight of your day. I’m not sure if you knew all along how this would help me in the long run, but it has.

If anyone has appreciated my toughness, please send my parents a thank you. The credit belongs to them.

Also, the picture in this post is from David & Goliath. Apparently there are pajamas and tshirts… I need some.