Chapter 14

Bigg Dreams

Sunday June 26^th

Rain hammered the roof when I woke, hard enough to make the gutters roar. The gray light made the whole house feel shut in.

I did my morning exercises, then went to breakfast. Mom and Dad were in his office paying bills and talking quietly. With nothing else to do, I wandered into the living room, where Frank and Dave were arranging dominos in long, winding patterns.

We had never played a real game of dominos. To us, the tiles were building blocks. I watched my brothers topple one line, then dug through the storage box and found the directions.

“Mexican Train,” I read aloud. “Want to try it?”

Frank and Dave shrugged, then nodded. They were always willing to try something new.

We played for a while, but I kept squinting at the tiles. The dots blurred together. “Why dots?” I muttered. “Engraved numbers would be easier to read. And a plastic center piece could hold the double.”

When we finished, I went for my notebook. The improvements were already taking shape in my head.

While I wrote, my brothers asked for paper to play Tic-Tac-Toe. I watched them mark a few squares and wondered how to make the game more competitive.

I sat down and began sketching lines, grids, and possible rules. By the time Mom called us for lunch, I had a version I wanted to test.

After lunch, I set the grid on the table and placed the checker pieces beside it.

“Mom, Dad—try this,” I said.

My parents sat on one side, and we boys sat on the other. Mom won the first round, of course. Then Frank and Dave played, and Dave won. Soon they were arguing over strategy while my parents and I stepped into the kitchen for coffee.

Dad looked at the grid. “Jack, how will you commercialize this?”

I leaned against the counter. “I see a three-dimensional Tic-Tac-Toe–inspired game. The grid stands between the players, with slots for the disks to slide into. Now that I know the game works, I’ll design how the grid is made, and we’ll send out some sales sheets.”

Dad smiled. “I think you have another winner here.”

I grinned. This was what I loved: the puzzle, the breakthrough, and the satisfaction of making something real. Money was nice, but the accomplishment was the reward.

I went back to my room to finish designing the plastic grid. For the demonstration model, balsa wood might work—light and easy to cut.

The rain kept falling. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading plastic trade magazines, then wondered if I should start reading business and finance magazines too. Maybe even men’s fashion. It would not hurt to know the trends.

After supper, the phone rang. Chad wanted Dad and me to come over. When we arrived, he greeted us with a broad smile.

“The station manager loved the segment,” Chad said. “I got a raise. I wanted to thank you both.”

Chad’s wife, Melanie, was feeding their baby from a bottle. I watched her tilt it, then pull it away to let air in.

“Why does it need air?” I asked.

Melanie laughed softly. “If I don’t let air in, the suction stops.”

I frowned. “What if the formula were in a plastic bag? As the baby drank, the bag would collapse. No air needed.”

Melanie blinked. “That ... would actually be wonderful.”

“What else is difficult?” I asked.

Melanie sighed. “Last spring we traveled to Philadelphia to see my parents. Finding a warm place to change a diaper was impossible.”

“So a fold-down table in a restroom would help?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” she said. “That would have been fantastic.”

“I’m an inventor,” I said. “I’ll try to invent something that helps.”

Dad and Chad exchanged a look. I could not read it, but neither of them argued.

Later, at home, we discussed my new ideas.

I mentioned seeing an older boy running around with a pacifier. “I thought it would be funny to put a mustache on the front,” I said. “Or red lips. Maybe a big smile.” Dad looked at me. “Jack, that bottle idea—do you want to give it to Rubbermaid?”

I hesitated. “I’m not sure. Rubbermaid could make it. They already know me. They trust me. But this isn’t a toy or a novelty. It’s a baby-care product. That’s a whole different market.”

Mom jumped in. “You’re right. Rubbermaid makes consumer goods, but baby products are specialized. Safety standards, testing, packaging—it’s a different world.”

I nodded. “If Rubbermaid takes it, they’ll do a good job. But they might not know how to sell it. A baby-bottle system needs a company that already works with hospitals, pediatricians, and baby-supply stores.”

Dad leaned back. “So, the question is: do you want a company that you know, or a company that can sell it properly?”

I thought for a moment. “I want it to help people. Melanie struggled with that bottle. If I’m going to invent something to fix that problem, I want it to reach the people who need it.”

Mom smiled. “Then maybe we look outside Rubbermaid. There are companies that specialize in baby products. They’d understand the market.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “And what about the pacifier idea?”

I grinned. “That one feels more like a novelty. Rubbermaid could handle it, but it should still go to someone who understands baby-safety standards or sells novelty items.”

“The restroom changing table is Rubbermaid all the way,” I said. “A big blow mold, straightforward safety standards, and a huge market that is expanding every day.”

Dad chuckled. “So the bottle and the pacifier go to a baby‑care company, the changing table goes to Rubbermaid.”

I nodded again, more confidently this time. “Yes. That feels right.”

His mother laughed. “You’re full of ideas today.”

That night, as I prepared for bed, I thought about everything I had invented. I seemed to need the right frame of mind. Once I found it, ideas kept coming like water from a fountain.

Monday, June 28

I woke stiff. After a day without exercising, I was grateful I could ride again. I also noticed more definition in my body instead of the softness I had carried at the start of summer.

After breakfast, I asked Dad what he planned to do with his time while I worked at Rubbermaid.

“I’m not sure,” Dad replied.

“What would you think about taking point on all these ideas?” I asked.

Dad looked at me. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m coming up with a variety of ideas. Once I start at Rubbermaid, I won’t have time to develop them properly. I propose we split royalties fifty‑fifty.”

I continued, “In the process, you document what works and what doesn’t—develop a system that could train other would-be inventors. We’ve been lucky, almost spooky, in how easily we’ve gotten contracts. Are our contacts that great, or are my ideas that powerful? Either way, the next products will require more work.”

Dad nodded slowly. “I’ll have to think about this, Jack.”

I shifted gears. “Here’s another idea. You have the money from the sale sitting in a brokerage account. What if you became a part-time broker, with you and me as your customers? You wouldn’t have to solicit clients, but if someone comes along, great.”