By Sara Reynolds
What’s it like growing up the daughter (and subject) of Rick’s Last Licks? Well, there’s a very good question!
My dad is a very smart man, oddly enough. He’s been teaching me good things, bad things, important things, and not-so-important things my whole life. I would like to thank him for enriching my everyday life-lessons; always with a hint of practical “humor.” For example, when I was potty trained, he taught me to rate the results: the little ones were the “Poopettas;” the medium ones were the “Poopinos;” and the big ones–they were the “Pooponderosas”! Needless to say, I trained quickly.
Dad got me through the nightmare phase by inventing two characters that protected me from the bad things that lived under my bed. Fillmore, a toothless pirate who sailed up the Hudson, and Mr. Bufonga, a gnome with large, smelly feet who lived in the swamp behind our house. Both kept me safe from the monsters under my bed. Dad didn’t bother telling me there was nothing under my bed, as I later learned.
My father indoctrinated me to the Beatles early on, then bought me red Everlast boxing gloves and taught me how to “float like a butterfly” and deliver a hard punch–just about the time I was learning to walk. Then he removed my training wheels a little too early, before my feet even reached the pedals. He built me a soap-box derby car, but with non-functioning brakes. We lived on a big hill. There were a lot of Band-Aids in my life. He built me a playhouse, a sand-box, then a bigger sand box, and a swing set. He wasn’t a great builder, but his heart was in the right place.
Then, there was the time that my beloved fish, Goldie, died after two years of devoted fish loyalty. After her death my dad broke the news to me that every few months he would go out and buy me a new goldfish, because sometimes when I forgot to feed them, they would float to the top. He let this go on for about two years and then he let reality hit. I buried what turned out to be my last “Goldie” in the backyard in a shoebox. Most kids flush theirs, but I felt that a fish that “lived” two years deserved a proper burial.
There were the home videos, so well narrated you could hear Dad’s heavy breathing throughout! And the birthday parties! Each and every one of them preciously planned to the T. Dad was the main attraction of every birthday celebration I ever had, dressing up as a cowboy, or pirate, or President Bill Clinton. On the old videos you can hear Mom telling Dad, “Remember, this is Sara’s birthday–not yours!”
Dad has supported my frog wrestling, snake catching, digging up the backyard, excessive razor-scootering, wild animal collecting, Pokemon, billions of Beanie Babies, texting, instant messaging and room re-arranging and painting every several months. Also, my short yet passionate phase with ballet, large exotic parrots, multiple dogs, saxophone, guitar, cell phones, dive team, soccer, track, obnoxious teen phases 1,2,3,4, and 5 (present day.) And I forgive him for eating up all the ice cream, filling the container with ice cubes, and returning it to the freezer to delay Mom’s wrath.
So what’s it like having one’s life plastered on the pages of Inside Chappaqua? Well, all I can say is; don’t believe everything you read. He does exaggerate a bit (“embellish,” he says), but he does always, somehow, make sense. After all, life is pretty weird–and it helps to LOL.
Sara, a long time resident of Chappaqua, just completed her freshman year at Colby Sawyer College, in New London, NH, where she majors in graphic design. Sara also competed on the college’s varsity equestrian team.
