There was once a balloon that belonged to two little brothers. He floated against the ceiling in the corner of the boys’ room, his string hanging down.

When the brothers brought the silvery balloon home from the birthday party, they fought over him. Their mother said they had to share. At first they paid lots of attention to him. Then they forgot all about him. Now his air was leaking out, and he was starting to sink.

As he struggled to stay afloat in his corner, he talked to himself, as he had no one else to talk to.

“My air will run out, and I’ll fall to the ground. They’ll pick me up, throw me out and I’ll be forgotten.”

This filled him with sadness.

He needed to be the center of attention just one more time. But first he had to make it to the center of the room, where the boys would notice him. A good idea, except for one thing. There was a ceiling fan in the middle of the room, and it was always running.

The deflating balloon figured, however, there was no harm in trying. So, he bobbed his way over to the center of the room and stopped before reaching the fan.

“Excuse me?” he said to the fan. “I was wondering if you’d shut off for just a few minutes so that someone else could enjoy the center of the room.”

The ceiling fan didn’t seem to hear the balloon. It continued to whirl around, saying, “Wooosh! Wooosh!”

“Oh, come on! Have a heart, will you? I’m not much longer for this world, what do you say?” cried out the balloon.

“Wooosh, wooosh!” replied the fan, not slowing down a bit.

The balloon was none too pleased to hear this, so he did what any sensible balloon would do - he hurled himself against the swirling fan. One of the fan’s blades whacked him hard, throwing him back, wincing in pain.

“OK, now you’re asking for it!” yelled the balloon. He threw himself against the ceiling fan with all his strength, only to be beaten back again by the zipping blades. That didn’t stop him. He hurled himself against the fan, again and again, and was struck back each time.

The balloon stopped for a moment to catch his breath and nurse his wounds. Looking down, he saw the two little brothers sitting on one of the beds, staring up at him.

“That’s one crazy balloon,” said one.

“Do you think he’ll start fighting with the fan again?” asked the second.

The last time the balloon got this much attention was at the birthday party!

Encouraged, he redoubled his efforts against the heartless fan. But the fan kept beating him back.

The balloon stopped again to rest. He looked down and saw that the two brothers were now joined by their older sister, who was carrying some schoolbooks.

“That balloon thinks it’s Don Quixote,” said the sister.

“Donkey who?”

“Don Quixote,” answered the sister. “I’m reading a story about him for school. He’s this crazy knight who attacks windmills.”

She then pointed her pen toward the balloon and in a loud voice declared, “O’ brave balloon, I dub thee the Balloon from La Mancha.”

Meanwhile, the balloon was at the end of his wits. It’s not as if he needed to get to the center of the room anymore, since he was already the center of attention. But now it was a matter of principle.

What gave the cruel fan the right to deny him passage to the center of the room? Besides, he had fans of his own now, and he couldn’t let them down.

Then the balloon had an idea, a bit desperate but so was his situation. He worked his way as close as possible to the fan and then quickly wrapped his string around one of the fan’s whirling blades. He was violently yanked by the fan and then swung around and around by his string. Using all his strength, he pulled himself in by his string closer and closer to the fan’s blade. When he was just about to touch the blade, he jammed himself between the fan blade and the ceiling, and, wouldn’t you know it, he wedged himself in so tightly the fan had to stop. It was stuck.

Now instead of saying, “woosh!” the fan was grunting and saying, “grrrrrrrr!!” The balloon bulged under the pressure but wouldn’t give in to the fan. The fan grunted harder and the balloon bulged even more, but nothing doing. The balloon simply would not budge.

But then the fan pushed with a loud “errrggh!” and its blade cut into the balloon, tearing a hole through his side. The fan, unstuck, began to spin again. As for the balloon, he was thrown away from the fan and began his descent to the ground, his string trailing behind.

As he fell, his last air gushing out his torn side, the balloon realized his end was on hand. Once he landed he would be thrown out and forgotten.

This filled him with sadness.

But then he heard the most welcome thing - the sound of the little brothers and their sister cheering and clapping for him.

And this filled him with happiness.

The deflated balloon hit the ground in an empty, crumpled heap and his string followed, landing on him in a swirl. And that was that for the balloon.

The two little boys walked over to what was left of the balloon. They picked him up. But they didn’t throw him out. Instead, with the help of their sister, they taped him to a poster board, and in big letters wrote, “The Balloon from La Mancha.”

And when they hung the poster board on their wall, the ceiling fan, which was always on, stopped spinning for about six seconds, out of respect for the brave balloon. Then, with a “woosh!” it began whirling again.