growing up in a drugstore

I grew up in a drugstore.

My dad, Wilson Cain, was a pharmacist, and together with my mom, they ran Southside Pharmacy in Myrtle Beach. That little store was more than just a business—it was the heart of my childhood.

Some of my fondest memories were made wandering its aisles. I’d spend hours pretending to shop, pushing my tiny buggy (that’s what we call it down South) with a purse slung over my shoulder. I had a whole imaginary family—complete with made-up names and backstories—and I’d “buy” things for them one by one. After I “paid,” I’d return everything and start the whole adventure over again.

There was a small cabinet in the school supply aisle with sliding doors, and I was little enough to crawl inside and pretend it was my house. In another corner, boxes of baby formula were stacked in a U-shape—another cozy home in my make-believe world.

When I was about five, I met one of my best friends right there in the drugstore. Every summer, she came in for a scoop of chocolate ice cream—just a dime back then. She loved chocolate so much, my parents nicknamed her “Little Miss Chocolate.” They’d still call her that today if they were here. She was the maid of honor at my wedding to Willie and remains one of my dearest friends. (Hi, Amy!)

Every morning before school, my dad took my brother and me to the store. Miss Mildred and Miss Clara always had breakfast waiting. I had a peculiar favorite—strawberry ice cream on toast instead of jelly. While we waited, I’d flip through Richie Rich and Archie comics. Later, it was Tiger Beat and Seventeen magazines that caught my eye.

During breakfast, a group of local men would gather to chat and “solve the world’s problems,” as my dad used to say. That tradition carried on even after Southside closed—Dad kept meeting with those same friends each morning.

After breakfast, our delivery driver, Raleigh Wall, would take us to school in my mom’s olive-green station wagon. By the time we reached middle school, my brother and I asked to be dropped off down the road to avoid being seen. You know how middle school is.

I spent many afternoons sitting on the steps of my mom’s office, playing with paper dolls while she handled the books and accounts. Some of my birthdays were celebrated right there at the Soda Fountain, which served everything from hot dogs to daily lunch specials. My favorite was Chicken Bog Day on Tuesdays—yellow rice cooked in a giant silver pressure cooker. It’s still one of my favorite meals.

When I got sick at school, Raleigh would come pick me up and bring me back to the store until my mom could come get me. The first 27 years of my life were woven into the fabric of Southside Pharmacy. Every corner of it holds memories and life lessons I carry with me to this day.

Growing up in that drugstore shaped who I am. Every aisle, every person, every scent and sound—they’re still clear in my mind. Even Willie’s family, who lived in the Inlet and Surfside, would drive all the way to Myrtle Beach for their prescriptions. That’s just how it was back then.

Willie interned for my dad at Southside, and that’s how our friendship began. Now, more than thirty years later, we’re proud to carry on the tradition at Lee’s Inlet Apothecary—serving our community with the same care and commitment my parents showed.

There’s something truly special about growing up in a drugstore. To everyone who has supported Lee’s Inlet Apothecary over the years: you’re part of our story. You’re family.

Though Southside Pharmacy now lives only in memory, and though my parents and many dear friends have passed on, their legacy lives strong in my heart. Watching Willie work brings back memories of my dad behind the counter. Folding Salty Goat t-shirts takes me right back to my younger days at Southside. And as our children grow up in The Apothecary, I’m reminded every day of the foundation my parents laid—and the beautiful, blessed life we’ve built.

Thank you for twenty-three incredible years.

—Melissa Cain Lee