When Water Balloons Changed Everything
Copyright© 2026 by Jackstoryteller
Chapter 2
Tuesday — June 1
The house was unusually calm for a Tuesday morning. Mom moved briskly through the kitchen, gathering her things for work, her heels clicking with purpose. Dad sat at the table nursing a cup of coffee, already dressed and apparently already thinking. Jack’s younger brothers were still asleep upstairs, which meant the day hadn’t exploded into chaos yet.
Jack poured his cereal and sat down, expecting a normal breakfast. That lasted about three seconds.
“How soon can you be ready to talk to Sid?” Dad asked.
Sid? Before Jack had even finished eating? He blinked. “Fifteen minutes.”
Dad shook his head gently. “Jack, Sid has a job. He’s willing to help us, but I told him to wait for my call. I want to talk with him early so he can free up the rest of his day. Always be considerate of other people’s time.”
Jack nodded. “Okay. Call him, and I’ll be ready when he gets here.”
Dad made the call. Sid must’ve been waiting by the phone, because the doorbell rang ten minutes later.
The doorbell woke Jack’s brothers. They lumbered down the stairs rubbing their eyes, but Dad intercepted them.
“Frank,” he said, “Jack and I are busy. Help Dave get his breakfast, then find something to do outside.”
He nudged them toward the kitchen before ushering Sid into his office.
Jack followed and offered Sid a cup of coffee. Sid waved it off.
“I’ve been up since six,” Sid said, playing with the buckle on his sample case. “Already working on a plan to get us in front of the right people.”
Dad nodded. “Alright, Sid. Let’s hear it.”
Sid grinned — the kind of grin that meant he’d been waiting for someone to ask.
“First, Wham‑O. I know their rep personally. If we want to move fast, I can get us a meeting early next week. Second, Mattel Toys. Harder to crack, but I’ll call the salesman I deal with and ask him to push your ‘ten steps to small‑car domination’ package through their review process. If Carl gets that teaser sheet done, they’ll schedule a meeting.”
Dad listened quietly, arms crossed, letting Sid lay out the whole strategy.
Only when Sid finished did Dad speak — softer now. “Sid, how do you want to handle compensation?”
Sid shrugged. “Consulting fee. Nothing crazy. Just enough to make it worth the time I’m taking away from my route. You get the meetings, you get the deals — I just open the doors.”
Dad nodded. “Fair.”
He leaned back. “But we need to be smart about the order. We hold off on Wham‑O until we’re ready. I don’t want to walk into a meeting with half‑finished materials. Carl needs time to finish the teaser sheet. Mark needs time to look over the business setup. And Jack and I need to polish the presentation.”
Sid nodded. “Fair enough. Wham‑O moves fast, but they expect you to be ready.”
“Exactly. So we spend the rest of this week getting everything printed, packaged, and professional. No rushing.”
Sid tapped his case. “Alright. That puts us at ... Monday?”
“Monday afternoon,” Dad confirmed. “Call Mattel then. Not Friday — printing won’t be ready.”
Sid grinned. “Monday afternoon it is.”
He looked at Jack. “You better get ready. This is going to be a big week.”
Jack swallowed. “I know.”
Dad walked Sid out. Jack followed him to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. If he was going to be in business, he figured he should at least look like he could drink coffee with grown-ups. It still tasted terrible.
Before Dad could say a word about the plan for the week, Frank and Dave burst in.
Frank crossed his arms. “Why did you and Jack have a meeting? We missed our morning cartoons.”
Dad took a breath — the kind he used when something important was coming.
“You know Jack invented a way to fill balloons quickly, right?”
Both boys nodded.
“Well, Mr. Spector is helping us contact toy companies. Jack and I will be in a lot of meetings from now on. So, Frank...” Dad pointed at him. “ ... you’re considered the oldest while we’re working. You’re responsible for you and your brother’s actions.”
Dave’s face crumpled. “I’m gonna die.”
Dad chuckled. “You’ll be fine. Go find something to do. We have work to finish.”
Frank sighed dramatically — the kind of sigh that suggested his entire childhood had just been ruined — but he herded Dave toward the back door.
“Frank,” Dave whispered loudly, “what if I starve?”
“You won’t starve,” Frank muttered. “I’ll make toast.”
Dad turned to Jack. “First, I want to see all your notes so I can make copies. Then we work with Carl on the presentation.”
Jack and Dad spent the next hour sorting everything, organizing pages, and making sure nothing was missing. Dad called Carl, who was available, so they grabbed the papers and headed to his shop. Before they left, Dad also called Mark to set up an appointment later that morning.
Carl spent fifteen minutes reviewing everything. Then he pulled out a mock‑up of what he’d put together after the picnic.
It was perfect.
Elegant. Clean. Precise.
And the logo — a burning red banner with Hot Wheels blazing across it — looked like something straight off a toy aisle endcap.
Carl promised a complete printed packet by Friday noon.
Dad paused. “That will include letterheads, envelopes, and business cards?”
Carl nodded.
Dad thought for a moment, then said, “I will be President ... and Jack will be Chairman of the Board.”
Jack blinked. Chairman of the Board. It sounded enormous. Like something adults said in movies.
Carl grinned. “Chairman of the Board it is.”
Jack and Dad stepped out into the warm afternoon. Something official had just happened. At least, it felt that way.
Dad murmured, “Titles matter. They tell people how to treat you. And they tell you how to treat yourself.”
They drove straight to Mark’s office. Dad walked in like he’d done it a thousand times, shoulders relaxed, steps confident. Jack stayed close beside him, trying to look like someone who belonged in a law office and not like a kid who still had glue on his hands from yesterday’s prototype.
Mark greeted us with a big smile. “Gentlemen. Come on back.”
His office smelled like leather, paper, and the kind of confidence you only get from years of telling grown men how the world really works. He motioned for us to sit, and Dad handed him the packet Carl had prepared.
Mark flipped through it slowly, nodding as he went. “This is excellent work. Clean. Professional. And the hot Wheels logo...” He held it up to the light. “This looks like something Mattel would produce themselves.”
Dad sat forward slightly. “We’re moving fast. We need the business structure ready before Sid starts making calls.”
Mark nodded. “Alright. Let’s talk about the company. Bigg Dreams, correct?”
Jack nodded, trying not to grin too hard.
“Good name,” Mark said. “Now, here’s how I suggest we set this up.”
He leaned back, steepling his fingers — the way lawyers do when they’re about to say something important.
“Jack owns the intellectual property. All of it. Every invention, every design, every concept. That protects him long‑term.”
Dad nodded. “Agreed.”
“Keith,” Mark continued, “you’ll manage operations. President, CEO — whatever title you prefer. You’ll run the business day‑to‑day.”
Dad nodded again. “President works.”
Mark flipped to a blank legal pad. “Now, this is where I want to get ahead of things. You’re starting with toys — Mattel, Wham‑O, maybe more. But you may branch out. Maybe, investments, property.”
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