I was so caught up in writing today that I almost forgot my son's birthday.
While Octopus was checking the monthly ticket rankings, Little Octopus came over and asked me, "What are you doing?" Octopus replied, "Charging up the rankings!"
Little Octopus asked, "What place are you in?"
Octopus checked the rankings. "Eighth!" I felt that was passable-not too shabby.
Little Octopus looked utterly scornful. "When I drop out of the top three in my class, you give me a tongue-lashing and come at me with fists and feet. And here you are in eighth."
Octopus: "..."
Little Octopus: "Dad, can't you show a little fighting spirit? Is getting into the top three really that hard? If you don't strive while you're young and strong, you'll have nothing but sorrow when you're old."
Octopus: "..."
It wasn't that Dad wasn't trying. Today, I'd already rolled up my sleeves and offered an extra chapter for every hundred monthly tickets. But the enemy troops were ferocious, their firepower overwhelming. Octopus could only flee in tears.
Brothers and sisters, if you have monthly tickets, please cast them for Octopus. Think of them as birthday red envelopes for Little Octopus. When I get back from dinner tonight, Octopus will deliver every promised update. If you can push Octopus a few places higher in the rankings, I'll get to strut a little in front of my son and reclaim the glory of being his dad! (To be continued)