As I write this, I know I will need to protect some people, places, and things, to primarily, not get sued. But some stuff, is just too good, not to actually use it's name. Since I already teased you in the last post about Hollandale, I figured, it was safe to just go ahead and pray that the City of Hollandale finds this cute, and funny...and not offensive. It's okay, I know the Mayor.
A brief history on Hollandale: (Mind you, this is not entirely..if at all accurate. I got most of my Hollandale history lesson off of old pictures that were hanging up in the town diner.) Hollandale was founded by Dutchmen (No, it's not just a clever name) a long time ago... or at least around the time rail roads were still the main form of transportation. Initially the entire area was a marsh. The dude that discovered the area found that the ground beneath all the water was great for farming vegetables, much like back in the 'old country'. The ground itself is best for potatoes, onions, carrots, beans and corn. In no time Hollandale's name was on the map for producing the most delicious veggies! With that, the farming community was born, thus the need for farm equipment...which as you guessed it: Brings the Radke family into the picture. Modern day Hollandale is a bit like Mayberry. At the last census they had 303 people. There are no stoplights, it's about 4 blocks long, and everyone knows everyone else.
It was 1986, and the farm dad was raised on was going up for sale. Dad and Mom knew it was too big to take on themselves, and didn't want to be tied to a farm forever. It's a story like any other: dad knew a guy, who knew a guy that was looking for a semi truck driver, to help a John Deere dealership during the busy harvest time. Dad needing the work, took the job. This however, meant dad had to live in Hollandale, and mom and I were left back at home on the farm. We would see each other on weekends. Or my favorite, when mom had to work a weekend shift at the hospital I got to stay with dad at his apartment in Hollandale...which as you can imagine, was very bare, and man like..but more importantly I got to eat Dorito's, pizza and RC Cola all weekend long. It was a child's dream. The John Deere dealership liked dad so much that when the end of the harvest came, they asked him to stay on full time and the decision was made that the Radke's would move to Hollandale. As you can imagine, there was not much prime real estate in the area. The first few places that the realtor took mom to were questionable at best. Places where former owners actually had kept a monkey, to a place where it was one big room with a toilet in the middle and you just pull the curtain for privacy. Needless to say, Berde was not having this. After the toilet house, mom literally grabbed the realtor by the tie and said, "If you show me one more piece of shit, we're not buying anything!" Next thing you know, a quaint little 2 bedroom house popped up for sale, while mom wasn't in love with it, it didn't smell like a zoo, or have a toilet as the main focal point in the living room. Mom was sold. We moved in the summer time.
In a town of less than 300 (they just burst through the 300 people ceiling a few years ago!) word got out quickly that a new family was in town. It didn't take long for visitors to come by bringing plates of goodies, and offering play dates for me with other children. (Which I LOVED!) I liked Hollandale immediately. It seemed like a Metropolis to a farm girl, and I could pretty much ride my bike wherever I wanted. Except for across the highway to the other half of town, I needed to be with a grown up on that adventure, at least until I was a little older. People all wanted to know what our background was...lineage was important in this town, we soon heard the phrase, "You're not much if you're not Dutch!" Initially we thought they were joking, but turns out...they really meant it! I began to dread saying over the years that I was a boring Minnesota mix of German/Norwegian. The Dutch families had cool things like Amsterdam, delicious candies, bakery items, and neat shoes. What did I have going for me? German's had that whole Holocaust thing, what a nightmare that turned out to be...and Norwegians...well they just had a goofy accent and ate lutefisk. I immediately formed a complex, and now consider myself of a German/Norwegian/Dutch heritage.
In the fall I started kindergarten in Albert Lea. Mom put her little 6 year old on the bus, knowing that I was truly gifted, and the teacher was going to be working with a small child genius for the next year. As she walked home, sobbing uncontrollably, people actually stopped her and said, "Berde, are you okay?" She replied with, "I'm fine, I just put Megan on the bus, she's going to kindergarten!....She was just a baby!..." I had no idea about mom's crying fit until years later, I guess that can be kind of a common thing among mom's. Next thing we knew it was time for my first parent/teacher conference.
Mom walked into that parent/teacher conference KNOWING that the teacher would finally be confirming what she had known for 6 years, her one and only daughter, was destined for big things. The first words out of my teacher's mouth were: "Megan refuses to learn how to tie her shoes." Mom, shocked says, "What?!" Mrs. F: "She said she doesn't need to learn how, that you would just buy her velcro for the rest of her life." In my defense: that was a pretty good plan! Obviously, if I wasn't going to focus on the childish task of shoe tying I would have time for much more complex tasks, like learning how to draw shapes, or getting some of the basic math down. Needless to say, when mom got home from conferences we had a discussion about how when the teacher says we're going to learn things...I need to listen to the teacher, and while mom was going on and on about learning how to tie shoes, she told me I needed to focus a little more on listening, and not talking so much when in class. Who me?! I finally had an audience of kids to talk to, they were worried I would be a loner, and now I have to shut up?! This was a hard concept for me to grasp. But after a few trying weeks of shoe tying, it was under control, and I was trying to keep the talking to a minimum, or at least whisper a lot more.
Before I knew it my first year in Hollandale was almost over...and my life of Dutch goodness, was just beginning...
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