Chupchip was walking slowly home from school. He missed The Booboobus again because he took too long with his lunch. He didn’t like fish. He didn’t enjoy picking the little bones out.
If he missed any, they would get stuck between his teeth. That’s why he preferred not to eat fish. But the lunch lady insisted he at least try a little. Not that it bothered him now. He was more worried about the homework they’d been given.
Mr. Dibble told them that tomorrow would be Father’s Day. Just like they had recently celebrated their moms, now they would celebrate their dads. Their homework was to write and recite a poem for their dads about how much they love them. Chupchip couldn’t think of anything the whole way home.
When he got home, he went to play in the sandbox. Toothy Boo was already there, piling pebbles onto a blue truck.
“Have you got your poem ready yet?” Chupchip asked her.
“No, but I’ll think of something as soon as I see Dad,” said Toothy Boo. “What about you?”
She’s so lucky, thought Chupchip. She always comes up with something.
“No, I have no idea what to wish him. Maybe something he likes,” Chupchip thought.
And right then, he had an idea. He ran straight to the garden shed where they kept all the outdoor toys. He found one last piece of paper there, but no pencil anywhere.
“Oh, no! Sis, do you have a pencil?”
“I don’t have it—you’ll have to go home.”
“By the time I get home, I’ll forget it,” groaned Chupchip, looking around for something to write with.
He grabbed a pebble, dipped it in mud, and started writing. It didn’t go well, but in the end he managed to get the letters down somehow.
“That paper looks like someone wiped their bottom with it,” said Toothy Boo when Chupchip finished his work. “You won’t even be able to read it.”
“I will, don’t worry,” Chupchip smiled, already looking forward to morning when he could recite his poem to Dad.
Right at breakfast, Toothy Boo dashed over to Dad with a little bouquet made of daisickies. Dad loved those. Then she recited her poem:
Look, dear Daddy, here’s a flower,
just for you this happy hour.
And because you’re dear to me,
I’d bring you a whole flower field
And to show my love is true,
I’d send a truck of blooms to you.
“Thank you, Toothy Boo, that was a lovely poem. And I’ll put my favorite daisickies in a vase,” dad cheered.
Chupchip cleared his throat, grabbed his piece of paper—on which he’d written the poem in mud—and stood in the middle of the kitchen. But still, he wrote some of the letters so carelessly that he couldn’t read them himself. So he just guessed what they were.
“Happy Feather’s Day!
You’re really the beast… Oh, sorry! I meant you’re the best…at least.
I’ll be a good boy and won’t make a fuss,
You’re the greatest bad… uh… dad to all of us!”
“That was a beautiful poem,” Dad laughed. “So I hope you really won’t be naughty—that would be a wonderful present. And you know what, my little toothy kiddos? Let’s go celebrate with some ice cream!”
“Yippee!” the children cheered excitedly.
“Which one would you like? I feel like having water sprite flavor.”
“Ew, that tastes like fish,” Chupchip wrinkled his nose. “I’ll have feather flavor, since it’s Feather’s Day.”
“Father’s Day, silly,” Toothy Boo gently corrected him.
“Oh, right. That makes sense. I was wondering why people congratulate dads on Feather’s Day. Now I get it,” Chupchip giggled.
So for Father’s Day, Dad had water sprite ice cream, Mom chose fly flavor, Chupchip wanted his feather one, and after a long time deciding, Toothy Boo picked black charcoal ice cream. It was a day filled with strange flavors and even better memories.