Never Dare a Dutchman

Since my home life is simple these days, and my work life not appropriate for a blog, I have decided to put some of my old favorite stories to the page. I promise they are all true and only slightly tall after many tellings. It is appropriate then that I start with a fish story, which like all fish tales involves a fish that got away. But this fish was peculiar in that it was in the middle of Southern Ontario farming country outside the supermarket.

Still living in the small town where my mom grew up is an old friend of my mother's who immigrated to Canada from Holland many years ago. I have known Renske and her husband Lawrence my whole life and spent happy times on their farm milking cows, playing with their son and daughter, and snowmobiling through the fields.

When I was about 20, their similarly aged nephew Gerben was visiting from Holland who I had only met once a few years prior. Since that time, Gerben had sprouted into a tall lanky fellow who towered over us all. He seemed normal and nice enough, but clearly keen for adventure as he was touring Canada alone.

Gerben asked me to drive him to get flowers for his aunt and uncle. It happened to be the 25th wedding anniversary of Renske and Lawrence and we were getting together for one of our big two-family dinners, where there is heaps of food and heaps of laughter but never enough time.

I hopped in our k-car, Gerben folded himself into the passenger seat and we headed to the Zhers supermarket, which I had recalled had a passable floral department.

On this particularly sunny day at the supermarket, there was a foam mascot tuna by the front door, hawking his wares, waving his stubby fins at the entering shoppers and turning back and forth awkwardly with his whole body as people in mascot costumes tend to do. This was keenly true for The Tuna who's feet were constrained inside a narrow fake foam tail fin. Close by, his keeper passed out coupons and made sure The Tuna stayed upright.

I waved to the tuna imagining it being a local teen trying to make a few bucks, and then passed through the sliding doors with Gerben inside.

On the way out, with Gerben now wielding a giant bouquet, we passed The Tuna and his diligent keeper again. To this day, I don't know what prompted me to say it, and especially to a near stranger, but halfway to the car, I jokingly suggested with these fateful words:

 "Dare you to tackle the tuna."

Gerben looked at me,
looked at The Tuna,
looked at me,
cocked an eyebrow,
pressed the bouquet into my arms
and promptly started running full tilt in his lanky way towards The Tuna.

The Tuna must have noticed Gerben and thinking there would be some fun, bent slightly forward in a menacing manner and started running – or rather shuffling as fast as his tail fin would let him towards Gerben in response.

The two came to a screeching halt in the parking lot within three feet of each other and stared each other down like gladiators: The Tuna with the glassy eyed look of death and Gerben bent forward ready for attack.

I'm sure the Tuna thought this would be the end of it, but no. Our Dutchman had other plans.

Gerben hoisted the shocked Tuna up and over onto his lofty shoulder and started spinning.

The Tuna's keeper and myself, bouquet in arms, watched with mouths agape not knowing what to do  as the fish madly slapped Gerben on the back with his short feeble fins.

Gerben finally relinquished his hold on The Tuna and set him back on his feet where he waved dizzily for a few seconds before his keeper ran up with a steadying arm.

Gerben simply turned and sauntered back to me, grabbed the flowers out of my arms and simply said:

"Never dare a Dutchman"