Proud Papa… Sort Of.

The other day, my oldest came home with both a fantastic report card and an invitation to join something called the Beta Club. I had never heard of the Beta Club, but reading the invitation made it sound pretty cool. Apparently, it’s some sort of invitation-only service society where the invitation process is based both on grades and character.

As I read the invitation, I felt his eyes on me, waiting.

“This is really cool,” I said. “Great job.”

“Thanks,” he said, still waiting for something.

“Do you want to join?” I asked.


“Cool.” He still seemed to be waiting for something. “You should be super┬áproud of this,” I added, trying to figure out what was going on.

His eyes were sparkling, and his mouth was just about to smile.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“You haven’t heard of the Beta Club, have you?”


“So. . . you weren’t invited to join.”

Now he was smiling full-on, not even bothering to try to hide it.

I sighed. “That’s right.”

“I’m gonna be in a club that you can’t be in.”

“I’m sure it won’t be the last time.” I put the letter aside. “Now eat your Cheerios, Mr. Beta.”

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