FROM THE PUBLISHER | Business 101

They came with a solid presentation, including a handwritten flyer, done in Sharpie on a blank piece of printer paper. They misspelled “available” and “differs,” but this is business, not English class, and, since they’re about 9, it just made it cute, anyway.

I say “pretty much” because I made them a counteroffer, just for the sake of education, and they considered the size of the yard and their own transportation costs — walking about 100 feet — and they bent a little. Price, as you know, is set by the intersection of supply and demand.

I did not need the service. I have a scoop, and a system, and it’s easier for me to do it right before I mow every week than to wonder where the neighbor kids are when I want to do what I want to do. I actually like mowing, as I’ve written here before. Doing something through to completion is inordinately satisfying in a world where work never ends.

But my oldest sold painted rocks, and then popcorn, and then magazines, and then sponsorships, and then subscriptions… and now he’s running a company he started from scratch, living in New York City, working with venture-capital money, calling me to talk about meetings involving expensive lawyers and million-dollar deals.

Would he have been there if it weren’t for Tom and Karen Roberts, saying yes to the popcorn? Would he have made it without Midge and C. Clyde Jones buying magazines? I don’t know. But I’m also sure they did it just to encourage him. They didn’t need to say yes. They just did.

Incidentally, props also to Tony and Kathy Wichmann, and Larry and Susan Rodgers, whose kids patrolled the same turf at the same time. If you didn’t hustle, they’d beat you to the sale. My guess is their kids learned the same stuff and are applying it in a variety of ways. Good folks, all of them.

The names change over the years. Tracy Britt, later Warren Buffet’s right-hand person and now her own CEO, is probably the rock star in the business world who came from this environment.

We all play the roles. If I’m lucky, I’ll make it to C. Clyde’s age. Certainly not his status; he’s Mr. Manhattan. But you get the point — we’re kids, and then we’re young parents, and then we’re the target demographic. That’s my role now.

So I didn’t even consult Angie, who was out of the house. Sorry, honey. I committed us to eight bucks a week for the foreseeable future. They prefer cash, by the way, but they’ll bring a QR code for Venmo next week.