When Water Balloons Changed Everything
Copyright© 2026 by Jackstoryteller
Chapter 4
Thursday, June 3
I woke up energized—the kind of energy that comes from having a purpose. I dressed in some of my nicer school clothes. Not Sunday best, but better than shorts and a T-shirt.
If I’m going to be a business owner, I should at least look like one.
When I walked into the kitchen, Dad raised his eyebrows. Mom stopped what she was doing, came over, and kissed the top of my head.
“You look nice today,” she said.
I swallowed. “Thank you. Do you both have a moment?”
They nodded and gave me their full attention.
I took a breath. “I’ve been thinking about the business. You’re spending a lot of money and time getting this off the ground. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me—and with me.”
Mom and Dad exchanged a quick glance. I couldn’t tell what it meant, so I kept going.
“I want to change the ownership,” I said. “I want each of you to own five percent of the company. That gives you ten percent of the profit from our work.”
The kitchen went still. For a second, I wondered if I had said it wrong.
Dad set down his coffee cup. “Jack ... that’s generous. But your mother and I aren’t doing this for money. We’re doing it because we believe in you.”
Mom nodded. “Sweetheart, we don’t need a percentage. This is your company. Your ideas. Your future.”
I shook my head firmly. “No. It’s our effort. You’re teaching me everything. You’re helping with the research, the business setup, the presentations. You’re putting in real work and real dollars. This is an investment that deserves real ownership.”
Dad leaned back, studying him. “Jack, you don’t owe us anything. We’re your parents. This is what parents do.”
I didn’t budge. “I’m not doing it because I owe you. I’m doing it because it’s right. You both deserve to be part of this. And I want you to be.”
Mom’s expression changed. “Jack ... you’re growing up faster than I expected.”
Dad exhaled slowly. “Are you sure about this?”
I nodded. “Absolutely. I insist.”
Mom squeezed my hand. “Then we accept. Not because we need it, but because you offered it for the right reason.”
Dad added, “And because it shows you understand something most adults never learn — that success is shared.”
A steady warmth spread through me. It wasn’t pride exactly. It felt more like responsibility settling into place.
Dad smiled. “Alright, Chairman of the Board. After breakfast, we’ll update the paperwork.”
I grinned. “Good. Now let’s eat—I’m starving.”
Soon Mom left for work and my brothers woke, bringing the usual breakfast chaos—spilled syrup, an argument over the last banana, Frank teasing me about my stamina, and Dad trying to keep the peace with a newspaper in one hand and a spatula in the other.
Once my brothers scattered, Dad and I sat at the kitchen table with our notebooks. He flipped his open, clicked his pen, and said, “All right, Chairman of the Board. Let’s plan our day.”
I grinned and opened my notebook.
Dad began listing items:
1. Update business ownership.
“We’ll add your mother and me at five percent each, just like you insisted. That’s equity, not charity.”
2. Pull together all receipts for business purchases.
“This is part of my ownership equity. We need clean accounting from day one.”
3. Research the toy business so we aren’t relying solely on Sid.
“Sid is a salesman. A good one. But we need to understand the industry ourselves.”
4. Research toy trade organizations and magazines.
“We’ll need to go downtown to the library and use the Thomas Directory to find the toy equivalent of the plastics journals. Every industry has its own heartbeat.”
I nodded, then raised my hand as if I were in school. “I need to add something.”
Dad looked up. “Go ahead.”
5. Jack’s exercise plan.
“I realized last night I have no stamina. If I’m going to keep up with everything — the business, the walks, the work — I need to get stronger.”
Dad smiled. “Good. A strong mind needs a strong body. We’ll build it into your routine.”
I wrote it down and underlined it.
Dad leaned back. “That’s a solid list. But we’re missing a few things.”
I looked up, curious.
Dad added three more items:
6. Practice communication and presentation skills.
“Every day this week, we’ll rehearse your pitch for Splash Pak and Wild Wheels. Short, simple, confident.”
7. Write the letters we’ll send with the presentation packets Friday.
“Diagrams, sell sheets, cover letter, business cards — everything ready for mailing.”
8. Begin building a long‑term product pipeline.
“Companies don’t want one idea. They want to know you have more coming. We’ll outline your next three concepts — even if they’re rough.”
I blinked. “I have to invent more already?”
Dad chuckled. “You’re an inventor. That’s the job.”
I wrote the items down. The list kept growing, and I felt its weight along with the excitement.
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