Arnold tapped Julian on the shoulder, "They're all the same colour, son."
The five year old's face puckered, and he let his lower lip hang out to express his disappointment.
"Don't you have any other colours?", Arnold asked the kid from whom he was buying the paper.
"No Sir...just white...", the kid replied, in a voice that would convince the biggest sceptic, "...they don't make coloured paper with this thickness."
Arnold studied the sheet, trying to imagine what kind of plane they'd be able to make with it. "You sure this will fly a fair distance? I've never used such thick paper to make planes before?"
"I've been selling paper for more than a year now, Sir", he smiled, "Every day I sell paper to at least a hundred father-son duos like you. No one has ever complained so far."
Arnold looked in the direction of the path leading to the cliff once again, and saw hordes of fathers and their young toddlers doddling ahead at a leisurely pace. "How far is the cliff?"
"About 400 metres. It might take you about five minutes.", the eight year old said, almost as if reading from a script, "You simply stand with your son at the edge of the railing, make a wish in your mind, and throw the plane into the distance."
"Do you come here everyday?"
"Yes Sir. Many Fathers know about the cliff and the story surrounding this place. The Fathers know that if they made a wish for their sons and threw a paper plane down the cliff, their sons would surely make it big in life."
Arnold smiled, "Thanks Kid...would you want to join us?"
"No Sir, I need to sell paper."
"What about you? Did your father ever throw paper planes for you too?"
"My father's dead Sir...he was dead even before I was born."
Arnold lowered his head in guilt, "I'm sorry kid".
"It's alright Sir. I might not have a Father to make me a plane...but I have my life planned out."
"Do you want me to throw a plane on your behalf?"
"Don't worry Sir", he insisted, "I have a plan."
Arnold smiled. He paid the boy and walked with his son towards the cliff.
Later that evening, when the crowds had dispersed, the paper boy went to the railing overlooking the cliff. He peered down and saw at least a thousand paper planes strewn along the face of the cliff. It was quite a sight to behold. After all, those were more than just paper planes - they were signs of Fathers' love for their sons, Fathers' dreams for their sons.
How ironical then it was, that the boy who had all the paper would never have a plane thrown for himself.
But he was a boy with a plan.
And so the boy with a plan climbed over the railings and went down the face of the cliff, to seek and collect planes that had not gone far enough.