the watermelon story

There are a lot of fourth of July's that I remember, but there's one that stands out from the crowd as my favorite. You see, it all started with one of those early-bird-special sales at Meijer Thrifty Acres on the North Side of Holland--you know, on River ave? Well, according to the advertisement in the Sentinel, if you got to the store before 5:00 am, you could buy twelve packs of pop for 1/2 price.

Now, you've got to understand that growing up, we only had pop on special occasions. Like weddings and funerals. For some reason, we just never had it in the house. Well, dad decided that since it was a holiday, it'd be fun to splurge a little. So he announced the night before that he was going to go to Thrifties and get some of that 1/2 price pop. Of course, my sister and I begged to go along. We heard all the standard warnings--you're going to have to get up early and all that stuff--but we stuck to our guns and mom and dad soon caved in.

Before morning actually dawned the next day, dad was shaking us awake and throwing us into clothes and into the car. Our little sleepy brains didn't really understand what was happening, but there we were, on our way to the store. Well, when we got there, dad grabbed a cart and headed straight for the pop. As we followed, I remember noticing that his cart had a squeaky wheel. Sometimes that happens, but this one was worse than any I'd heard before . . . it almost hurt your ears, the squeak was so sharp. Anyway, dad made his way to the pop section and loaded up his cart with the maximum number of cases he could purchase and still get the 1/2 price deal. As he made his way toward the register, his cart squeaking and protesting all the way, he happened to see a big crate heaped full of huge watermelons.

Now, I don't remember dad being a big fan of watermelons, but apparently he had visions of picnic lunches and other 4th of July festivities and apparently those visions included a gigantic watermelon. So, he dragged his pop-laden cart to a halt and stood for a long time in front of that big watermelon crate, digging with singular passion through the pile. Now, I have no idea what he was looking for and I'm sure he didn't either. But that didn't stop him from thumping and touching and squeezing every watermelon he could get his hands on. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he spotted the prize--the most perfect watermelon in the crate--the holy grail of all watermelons. It was maybe three or more layers down, but if he just pulled hard enough, he figured he could yank it to the top and roll it into his cart.

Well, as was bound to happen, he yanked one too many times and suddenly the entire pile began to shift. We put out our arms to stop the avalanche, but there were just too many of them. They were coming at us from every direction--big green watermelons rolling wildly toward the edge. We caught as many as we could, but one particularly large watermelon--not the prize, but one nearly as large--rolled past our defenses. In slow motion, we watched it hop off the crate and plummet nearly four feet to the floor below where it landed with a sickening thud. It split open and showered us and everything around us with watermelon juice.

Now, that was memorable, let me tell you, but it was nothing compared to what happened next. You see, my sister and I started to laugh a nervous, shocked laugh--because it was dad who had done this horrible thing and not us--but then we saw the look in his eyes. They were crazy with a mingled fear and excitement and humor and horror. Before I could even try to comprehend what that look meant, he shouted out one single word: "run!" And then he took off like a bolt, pushing his little cart that was heaped to overflowing with cans and cans of 1/2 price pop. My sister and I stood there for a split second watching him disappear down an aisle, all the while listening to the loud squeeks and screams of the shopping cart wheels as they sped away at a speed they weren't built for. And then we shot off in different directions, running like mad through the empty 5:00 am aisles of Meijer Thrifty Acres.

Now, looking back on the whole thing, it's funny. Back then though, it was honestly quite scary. Before you laugh and ridicule me, think about it. Our brave leader and moral compass, our father, took off running quicker than either of us. He was supposed to guide and lead and he took off like he was scared to death, leaving us to fend for ourselves.

Well, hearts pounding, my sister and I finally found dad hiding out in the sporting goods department. That's when we realized he wasn't scared at all--he was having the time of his life. Sure, he was out of breath after pushing nearly 130 pounds of pop at high speed all the way across the store, but he was happy. He said something about this being the best fourth of July ever and here it was, only 5:30 in the morning.

My sister and I weren't quite as comfortable with the situation as he was--after all, there was still that little mess with the smashed watermelon and we wanted to get out of the store before the Thrifty-Acres staff pinned the whole thing on us. The way dad took off leaving us standing there, we were pretty sure he'd sell us out to the store authorities if they approached us about it. But no matter how much we wanted to leave, dad wasn't done yet. He still wanted that prize watermelon.

So, with my sister and I slinking behind his squeeky cart, our clothes still splotchy from the watermelon juice, we made our way back to the scene of the crime. And as we neared the spot, we saw a worker surveying the awful mess with a look of disgust. He was shaking his head and mumbling under his breath and my sister and I cowered behind dad. We felt guilty. We felt we had blood on our hands. And we felt that everybody in the store knew we were the perpetrators of this horrendous tragedy.

But dad just walked up to the man and looked at the mess on the floor. "What happened?" he asked the man as our jaws dropped open. "Well," the guy said, "somebody came through here and tossed the watermelon off the rack and smashed it on the ground--made a huge mess."

Dad shook his head as he grabbed his prize watermelon from the rack. "Probably kids. Kids do all sorts of stuff like that--don't care about others. Probably comes from having parents that don't care." Then he looked at us and nodded before turning back the guy, "Well, we better get going--having a big picnic today--hope you catch whoever did it. Have a good 4th." And then he walked away as the guy told us to have a great fourth of July as well.

The whole way home, we laughed and laughed and realized that while mom was spending all her time teaching us the right way to act, dad was showing us how scary it was to do the wrong thing. Together they made quite a team.