When I picked up the possums from day camp, they begged me to take them to the Northgate Soda Shop for dinner. (This is a big treat for them because their mom is somewhat of a curmudgeon when it comes to junk food.) As we pulled into the driveway to pick up the rest of the crew, our new twenty-something neighbors were also getting ready to grab dinner. Charlie was so happy I gave in to the begging, he announced from twenty yards away, “We’re going to the soda shop! We’re going to the soda shop!” They seemed amused that he was so excited. “Really? Cool!” indulged Hipster Guy. “What’s your favorite soda?” Charlie paused and got quiet. I could tell that he wanted to answer the question, but all he could do was scratch his head. Based on his limited consumption of carbonated beverages in his young life, he was stumped. Bless it. So, out of desperation, he yelled back, “Baking soda!” They laughed. “Baking soda?” Hipster Guy asked. “Yeah,” Charlie said more convincingly. “Because I can make explosions with it!”
Soda Pop, indeed.