The Popsicle Chronicles

Back when I was 12, growing up in the Philippines, our family wasn’t exactly swimming in riches. Fresh out of 5th grade, I had a clear goal: earn enough money to cover my school supplies and uniform for the next year. And how did I do it? By hitting the streets and selling ice cream and popsicles like a pint-sized entrepreneur.

I’ll be honest—I didn’t feel even a speck of shame wheeling that cart around the neighborhood. My focus was on the prize, and I had an unshakable determination to get there. Sometimes, I’d even take my sales talents to the bus station, hopping onto buses to pitch my frosty goods to weary passengers. Sure, it was tiring, but it worked.

One day, the cart got the better of me—it was just too much effort. Luckily, my step-uncle lent me his bike, which felt like upgrading to a Lamborghini! I improvised an ice Styrofoam cooler on the rack behind the seat and set off to neighboring municipalities, transforming the mundane into a bona fide adventure. I wasn’t just earning money; I was embracing the thrill of the journey. Selling popsicles became the summer I learned the value of hard work—of hustling for the things you want in life. Sure, I was young, and maybe I should’ve been playing tag with my friends instead of haggling over frozen treats, but honestly, I wouldn’t trade that lesson for anything.

Fast forward to sixth grade. I was in the top section of my class, basking in the glory of the “smart kid” squad. But one day, a kid from the fourth section walked past my classroom and decided to poke fun at me for what I’d done over the summer. My classmates didn’t miss a beat—they rolled their eyes, pointed out his section ranking, and laughed it off. It was a moment that stayed with me—not because I was embarrassed, but because it taught me not to judge others based on fleeting circumstances. That same kid was struggling in school, and maybe his life wasn’t all sunshine and popsicles either.

After sixth grade, I moved to America, and the hustle didn’t stop there. I started working before the legal age limit—a story for another time. But looking back, those popsicle-selling days weren’t just about making money; they were about discovering grit, embracing adventure, and cherishing the journey.

What about you? Did you work as a kid? Maybe as a paper boy or girl? Or did you have your own popsicle-style hustle? Let me know in the comments—I’d love to hear your story!