| Monument |
| Queen's Day in the Netherlands is a crash course for youngsters in what keeps today's tough world turning: earn it first, then spend it. It doesn't matter what one has to do to earn it … and it is quite unpredictable what it will be spent on. |
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I've been racking my brain, but I can't for the life of me remember what
brought the topic on, but there we are: my daughter inquires whether there
is anything I'm allergic to - sweets perhaps, or milk, or something else,
such as strawberries? No, I can't say I am except to being prone to sneezing
when in a really dusty environment, so I tell her that I'm allergic to
nagging. Does that make you ill, she wants to know. No rash, no bouts of
hyperactivity, no queasiness, I ponder out loud. So what does it do to you,
she insists. It's an expression, I root around in my vocabulary, it doesn't
actually do anything to you, what it means is that you can't stand it. Ah,
she says perkily, I'm allergic to patience.
The above occurred at the end of a long Queen's Day which we had kicked off selling decorated muffins. Several hours later our entire stock had been sold and my daughter was looking forward to spending her booty, sooner rather than later in the omnipresent Free Market. And so I found myself in the comfortable position of being enlisted for advice on my daughter's pattern of spending without having to foot the bill - and it actually made a difference to the way she listened. We had already turned the corner when in a decisive tone of voice she uttered the word "Strawberry". What's that? "Strawberry". Where? Back there, near the little shop. Never saw it. It was sitting behind a bollard. Really? How big was it then? She spread out her arms as if embracing a sackload of potatoes. Is that so? Gosh, I must have missed that. But it was really there. Alright, we'll go back in a minute, let's finish this bit or we'll have walked this whole stretch for nothing. I instantly realised that this ploy could backfire quite dramatically if over the next minute or two we spotted someone else proudly carrying off the spoils in question. Delay tactics, was what it was. We turned on our heel. Dragging me by the hand, she nodded her head silently yet triumphantly: over there, see? And there it was, propped up against a bollard in all its glory: a giant red strawberry, slightly peeling in places, made of wood, with an authentic crack down the middle. Would you like to buy it? Yes please. So, ask the man how much it costs. You ask. The educator in me was pondering, but wasn't given much of a chance. Excuse me, sir, my daughter would like to know the price of that strawberry over there. Two guilders. My daughter looked at me with an expression which was a mix of "Could've been worse" and "What do you think?" In previous purchases the one guilder mark had more or less been our cut-off point, no serious deliberations being required below that level while anything in excess was talked through, with me occasionally succeeding in steering her in the right direction. However, things were different now, for as I was finding the words which would leave our self-appointed pecking order intact, she took the initiative by putting on her brooding face. Seeing his chances go up in smoke, the strawberry man spontaneously dropped to one guilder fifty. This was my cue for assuming a pensive expression, albeit for a different reason than the vendor must have thought. I told my daughter that she should only go ahead if she really wanted to. I'm the sort of chap who will quite happily lug around a heavy strawberry through the Amsterdam streets provided the beneficiary's enthusiasm has inspired me to do so, in addition to which this sound advice could save her lots of money in the future. Again the strawberry man jumped in, dropping his price to one guilder. My daughter and I looked at one another and simultaneously uttered the word "Strawberry" - which is how this monument to fledgling understanding has come to take pride of place in our living room. |