The Inside Press

Magazines serving the communities of Northern Westchester

Essay

Sisterly Love for ‘Rent a Teenager’

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Let’s hope, given all that we have been through, we have a mild winter. But if we happen to have a storm this coming season, save your strength and let a teenager shovel your walk. I know just where you can find one…

Growing up, my twin brother, Mason, and I did many of the same activities. Whether running a race in the backyard, attempting the steepest ski trails, or memorizing multiplication tables, we were in a constant competition over who was faster, braver or smarter. In those rare instances when Mason would do better than me, I was definitely envious and admittedly, a bit of a sore loser. However, when he launched his entrepreneurial endeavor, Rent a Teenager, I easily felt pride over envy.

Here’s how Rent a Teenager came to be: When our older brother, Daniel, was in middle school, he would practice tennis by hitting with a local varsity tennis player. My mom paid the player $25 per hour back then. As Mason became more of a seasoned tennis player, he realized that he too could provide a similar service to younger kids at a fraction of the rate offered by professionals. As Mason started booking up, he realized that there was likely interest for lessons in other sports. He recruited some classmates and expanded his services to include soccer, lacrosse, basketball, you name it!

This led to RentATeenager.com, a website Mason founded as a resource that provides responsible and talented teenagers to perform various jobs. His range of services now extends way beyond just sports training. You can now hire a teenager as a tutor, babysitter, dog walker, errand runner, house worker, weed puller, couch mover, photographer, and more. As Mason likes to say, teens excel at just about everything. I guess with the exception of me since he never hires me for anything!

His website soon reached social media pages, like Instagram and Facebook, where he expanded both his slew of customers and his audience. From this, the business quickly gained momentum. Mason also started licensing his Rent a Teenager materials so teens in other towns can be their own boss and provide the same meaningful services in their community. And for a philanthropic effort, he donates 10% of his earnings to the Horace Greeley Scholarship Fund.

Rent a Teenager is at the cornerstone of discussion in my house. Ugh. And I apathetically anticipate the inevitable talk about his business at the upcoming holiday gatherings (I will shut my Zoom off if we just talk Rent A Teenager!) My extended family is so proud of his entrepreneurial skills. Hello? What about me? Of course, my mom and dad always use the opportunity to say that they already use some teenagers to help around the house–as they look skeptically at me and Mason.

Back in October, Mason creatively approached the problem of a lack of poll workers by advertising for teenage poll workers on Facebook. He boosted his posts so that they would reach parents and teens throughout the U.S. In some states you just need to be 17 to be a poll worker and now because of Rent a Teenager, teens not old enough to vote were able to meaningfully participate in politics. Mason got a lot of press coverage for this initiative.

And to prepare for the cold and snowy winter ahead, Mason plans to offer snow removal services. I bet my Dad, who is hounded by my mom to snow blow the driveway starting at 5 a.m. the day after a storm, will appreciate that. I keep trying to push Mason to start a hot chocolate business; that would be an endeavor I would support.              

As much as I’d like to rent a new brother at times, and as much as this pains me to admit, Mason has created quite a successful business for himself and I know he will do quite well studying business in college. But not as well as me, of course!

The Corona Chronicles: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

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Creative pursuits: A lemonade stand with proceeds going to frontline healthcare workers

This past February my neighbor and I drove to the city with our kids to see National Geographic Encounter’s Ocean Odyssey. As we sped down the Saw Mill, she asked me if I’ve been following the news about a new virus called COVID-19 that originated in China and was now raging through Italy. Yes, I had heard murmurings but the illness was somewhere else not on our shores. “Buy toilet paper, Purell and plenty of wine,” she said. Thank goodness for well-informed neighbors.

Now that my kids have completed iLearning, I’ve had the time to reflect on how COVID has impacted our family. Each family has had their own struggles living in the “new normal” and this is a glimpse into ours.

The Good

Let’s start with the good. Life pre-COVID, our life was in the fast lane–running from one activity to the next from after school activities to birthday parties to playdates. COVID put that to an abrupt halt and our lives have slowed down significantly. My mom always admonishes me saying that we run ourselves ragged. “You didn’t have a million after school activities and you turned out ok.” Hmm, maybe she has a point.

Isolation forces your kids to come up with their own entertainment when they weren’t on devices. I’ve enjoyed watching my kid’s creativity blossom from making a lemonade stand to raise money for frontline healthcare workers to devising carnival day in our house, my kids have created fun options that don’t even cost a cent. Having weekends devoid of activities, we’ve had a chance to explore treasures in our backyard with hikes at Ward Pound Ridge and Pruyn Sanctuary.

We’ve had more time together and one of the best things about this has been our ability to have dinner as a family every night. With my husband’s long hours in the office and frequent business trips, we sometimes managed to only have dinner as a family once or twice a week and I’ve always wanted more of them – but be careful what you wish for. I’m up to my eyeballs in dirty dishes with everyone home 24/7.

The Bad

I am not a patient person and some of my most harrowing moments of this pandemic has been iLearning. I realize how fortunate I am – I haven’t lost loved ones or have a job that puts my life at risk during this pandemic but iLearning has tested every fabric of my being. I had to sit down with my first grader for almost every assignment, prod my fourth grader into completing assignments and then harass my sixth grader daily who at first showed the most promise with iLearning but then lost motivation after it extended beyond anyone’s wildest imaginations. The yelling, the crying, the role of being the resident nag–it was all too much. And all this fighting was going on with my husband in his home office trying to be on conference calls. “My clients are wondering why WWIII is going on in the background,” he said so many times I lost count. So I let my kids go back to playing Fortnite as default entertainment.

The lack of planning for a dinner with the grandparents or a trip to a museum in the city has filled me with sadness. It’s this lack of possibilities and planning for the future that I am mourning most during COVID which leads to the ugly section.

The Ugly

The lack of predictably with COVID and who will fall victim to it scares me. Right now with the NY infection rate hovering at 1% as we go to print, I feel like we are in a “sweet spot”. It’s only a matter of time though before it gets worse again according to epidemiologists. And so I wonder should I stock up again on canned beans and Clorox wipes?

Each morning I scan the New York Times headlines. Never before have I felt so hopeless about our future. The politicization of mask wearing, the high infection rates in the Sun Belt, the double-digit unemployment numbers and the racial disparities in how this disease is affecting our nation, it’s too much to absorb. I now shut down after reading for a half hour instead of compulsively reading like I did in the early stages of the pandemic. And each afternoon while I hash out the day’s headlines with my neighbor in my cul-de-sac during a “COVID cocktail hour”, I’m grateful she suggested in February that I stock up on wine.

“Hometown” of Reader’s Digest Leaves Surprising, Lasting Impact

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Pleasantville-Coach K with a helmetless Dietrich at his side

It was a bright and sunny day–in the 70s–the 1970s. Not much else is memorable–except how we were greeted upon introducing ourselves to Garrison Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion, being broadcast from St. Paul, MN. So we stood tall, saying: “We’re from Pleasantville, New York,” adding, “home of Reader’s Digest.”

To which the radio host quipped: “Funny,… you don’t look condensed.”

The whimsical Keillor knew that Reader’s Digest is renowned for hardcover anthologies of “condensed” books and other easy-to-digest articles, humor, and whimsical anecdotes about “Life in these United States.” Also well-known is that Reader’s Digest calls Pleasantville, NY, its hometown. Great made-up name, right? Almost as fiction-sounding as “Lake Wobegon” is for Garrison Keillor and his prairie home companions.

Pleasantville is a real place, but did you know that name is used by ten other towns in these United States? (DE, IN, IA, MD, NJ, NC, OH, PA, TN, and WI.) I learned that much when the coming-of-age movie, Pleasantville, debuted in 1998. I had insisted that movie featured my hometown but was told otherwise–that it was based on a composite fictional Pleasantville.

Nothing fictional about where I grew up–except for the fiction that Reader’s Digest is located there. While most Americans would connect the Reader’s Digest Association with the Pleasantville in NY, all their books and magazines were produced in the next town over, Chappaqua. But my Pleasantville won its USPS contract, which accounted for 96% of all mail passing through our post office.

I hasten to add: The Readers Digest Association did start in Pleasantville in DeWitt Wallace’s garage in 1922. Over the next 17 years, it occupied 14 overflowing office spaces throughout our little village. It moved to a 116-acre campus in Chappaqua in 1939, remaining there 71 years until declaring bankruptcy and reorganizing. At its peak in the 1980’s, Reader’s Digest reached 100 million readers in 163 countries, with 48 editions and 19 languages. Westchester County, NY, is still home to all U.S.-based Reader’s Digest editorial members.

An injured Dietrich cheers on his team

Because of its Pleasantville origins 98 years ago and the still-current USPS connection, the Reader’s Digest Association put my little hometown (circa 7000 pop) on the map. Otherwise, we are a tiny bedroom community of suburban NYC, my household blending with 25 million others within an hour’s drive.

I grew up as one piece in a 1000-piece puzzle, trying to figure out how to fit into the bigger picture. Little did I know then how much that little town in the shadow of

the Big Apple and its association with Reader’s Digest would influence my life and chosen livelihood.

I was raised by a stay-at-home mom and a commute-to-NYC dad who worked 55 years for one company, tackling enemy combatants in WWII and all manner of epidemics since, missing just two days of work. Companies facing today’s pandemic shut down and furlough workers–but not then, not to the Greatest Generation. They would mask-up and make sacrifices to combat COVID-19.

A village of parents sacrificed themselves to rescue me from a reckless life and ‘enemies’ that plagued me. A local pastor and his wife, John & Muriel, became my second parents, turning me to Christ and his church. I also grew up under Pleasantville’s Coach K, a Vince Lombardi-type football coach who always had us ready to tackle enemies within–and those across the scrimmage line. To this day, thanks to the influence of a small village, I am loyal, well-prepared, disciplined, passionate, and ready to tackle giant obstacles like COVID-19.

Pleasantville not only turned my life around, but shaped my livelihood, too. I am now a copywriter whose writing niche includes book summaries, people profiles, populist blogs, study notes and reflection questions with whimsy–all to bring meaning and life application out of good books and the Good Book. I used to collect, from garage sales, anthologies of Reader’s Digest book summaries. I was busy, lazy and a slow reader, so this was just compensation for my deficits. I later figured others like me could benefit from a digest of Christian resources to make the Bible and its truth more accessible.

Yet all this time, I had not subscribed to Reader’s Digest. After they tracked me down online, I yielded. What is more, I gifted a subscription to my brother in DC. As we move into retirement, we have more time to relish this timeless treasure.

Reader’s Digest–with its small hometown values and giant legacy–affirms the idiom that “what goes around comes around.”

Bear Hunting in the ‘Burbs with My Son

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One of the bears sighted during our hunt
PHOTO BY Jennifer Drubin Clark

We were bored. REAL bored. “We” being my 3-year-old son and myself. The school day was over, our stomachs were full, the weather was crummy, and we had just about exhausted every activity within our house AND the tri-town area (Armonk, Chappaqua and Bedford as we refer to them). It was then, with fierce intent, the idea-heavens rained down upon us. Before we knew it, we were packing up bags of snacks, clothes and shoes suitable for any terrain, binoculars, a camera, and a pen with paper…we were going on a bear hunt.

Perhaps Michael Rosen, the famed author of “We’re Going on a Bear Hunt” got into our heads?

The car was packed and I found myself more excited about this adventure than any other we’d gone in the past. Why? Because I, mommy here, actually had NO idea where on Westchester’s green earth we were going to find a bear. Yes, a fake one…although I wondered at times if we would have more luck finding a real one?  Anyways, off we went!

The sun shade was down and his binoculars were in full effect as we cruised towards Main Street. Never thought my child could be so silent on a car ride. Bless this bear hunt.

Growing up in the Rocky Mountains, surrounded by carved wooden bears, I had a premonition that we might have a sighting if we headed towards Hickory and Tweed. After all, biking plus skiing = wildlife! The door made its’ familiar jingle as we entered and I secretly prayed that our first bear sighting was going to be just around the corner, literally. FAIL.

“Hi, can I help you find something?” a nice saleswoman asked as Spencer knelt down to focus his binoculars on a piece of dirt.

“Um yea.  We’re actually looking for bears….,” I said.

Spencer looked up at me annoyed that I asked for help. He really wants to feel the hunt. I saw it in his eyes. That’s when the saleswoman and I locked eyes, she must have her own kids…she “got it”, and she “forgot” I asked for help as she motioned her eyeballs up the stairs (where they do rentals/ fittings).

“Momma, there’s no bears in here,” he said.

“Wait bud, let’s check upstairs!,” I replied.

Lo and behold, the carved wooden bear I was hoping to see. He stands tall. My son is beside himself. We document our first sighting with time and location, and snap his picture. I give the nice saleswoman a nudge as we walked out in pure elation and off we went to find our next “furry” friend.

This next one wasn’t so easy, BUT the powers of the universe have a funny way of showing us that they’re paying attention. Spencer NEEDED hot chocolate to carry on. He was just so exhausted and that was the only thing that could bring him the energy we needed to keep on trekking. Keeping in line with our animal hunt theme, we landed at The Beehive.  He opted for whipped cream and I took a pass.

Now, this time for real, no help here, we get back in the car, I do the loopty loop to get out of the parking lot, and I hear and feel violent jeers coming from the back of the car.

“BEAR, BEAR, BEAR, BEAR, BEAR, BEAR,” my son screams excitedly.

Holy crap. Kid scared the freaking hot chocolate out of me. But he wasn’t lying and he sure wasn’t seeing things. There he stood, our next beautiful sighting; perched nicely above the westward parking lot.  Anyone wondering how old a kid is before they’re capable of shedding joyful tears? Three. We jotted down the details from our second sighting, snapped his photo, and slowly regained normal heartbeats.

How were we ever going to top this?!!! I mean we went on a bear hunt and actually found a bear all by ourselves!

As I glanced into my rearview mirror, I saw the yawns coming. My hunting partner was starting to fade. It was 4 p.m. and if I let him fall asleep then, bedtime would be brutal. This is when you pull out your mommy tricks…

“Bud, we did so good today. I can’t believe we found TWO bears!  Ice cream time?” I ask.

He stays up. Our bear hunt ends with us sitting on a cow licking ice cream cones for the day. A few days later, we decided to go on another wildlife hunt. As luck would have it our town is a hotbed of other wildlife including the Armonk Eagle and the Guardian Lions sitting outside of David Chen.

Can you help us find more animals in Armonk? Pack up your kid and your car and go and get your hunt on!

The Art of Being Neighborly on my Cul-de-Sac

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It’s a week before the big day and our family has convened to strategize a significant plan of action. This approach must be executed with meticulous detail so that the inevitable impending onslaught will be met with precision. A disciplined chain of command will ensure that whatever blueprint we settle upon will come from the top. Which is most definitely not me. My wife, Laurie, has decided, as The Decider, that the candy should be put into easy to distribute, pre-packed little bags with plump pumpkins on them. While this laborious option will guarantee fairness and efficiency (and trackable statistical data my wise-guy son adds) I tend to lean towards the more chaotic and subjective. Why not greet each kid, assess quality of costume (along with their trick or treat statement) and then distribute loose candy based upon this information? With 200 to 300 trick or treaters expected you can see why I am not The Decider. Welcome to life on my cul-de-sac.

When we moved to our Northern Westchester digs everything seemed new and a bit odd but exciting too. In the city we’d walk the kids to school every morning and it was a sweet ritual. Leaving that and other distinct urban scenarios behind made me hesitant to embrace the move to this beautiful bucolic suburb. However, almost immediately, it was clear that the more rural versions of our established routines were equally wonderful. In this case, we’d lose the family time spent walking to school as, now, the bus-stop is literally in front of our house. This simple fact of geography led to very fast friendships for the kids, as well as parents, who would all gather on a near daily basis. It would be impossible not to notice that we’d absolutely landed in a neighborhood.

Some of the bus-stop relationships evolved into friendships that still remain. Others were fleeting and on occasion a little contentious but that’s just the way life is with people interacting daily, sometimes before coffee. What became intriguing to me over time was the evolution of the bus stop. You’d see your kids eventually age out along with their peers followed by new kids which were often younger siblings you might know. At one point a whole new crop of kids populates the space by the house and, not being connected to it other than seeing it from the window, you realize that that particular aspect of living in the cul-de-sac always continues. Just as sweet as ever but no longer a direct part of our lives.

It may be a personal flaw but I’m very quick to base opinions upon my initial impression of people. Fair or not, neighbors show themselves one way or another and, unwittingly, I reach a conclusion about who they are which will never change unless they prove otherwise. I know this is absurd and not particularly neighborly but here we are. Shortly after we landed in our house a neighbor said hello and within 10 seconds told me I needed a new roof on my house. Probably a wonderful person but, for me, he’ll always be that guy who was critical of our new abode when I was at the height of emotional vulnerability homeowner-wise.

Along those lines, when the kids were young, there was a mother at the bus stop with a child the same age as my son. She wasn’t particularly friendly, even a bit abrupt, and I rashly concluded she was just kind of a hard case. Our kids became friends and I got to know her a little better and, of course, she turned out to be a very kind person. It turned out this single mom had serious health issues and I always felt terrible about my initial shallow rush to judgement. One December she came by to ask me to tune an electric guitar she’d bought for her daughter. I happily did so and she gave me a warm and spontaneous hug. I watched her walk away, guitar in hand, in light December snow headed up towards her house at the end of the cul-de-sac. The neighborhood is quite simply a community of folks living in close proximity and all that that entails.