The first time I was aware of New Year’s Eve it must have been 1970. That was in the Cornelis Riekelsstraat – where I was also born – in Den Helder. I remember that on that New Year’s Eve I had to go to bed first to get some sleep. I was too young to stay up all night. It must have been 1970, because I had just turned four years old that month. I wouldn’t have been any younger and if I was older, I would really have been able to remember more.
I remember that the family from Friesland was also visiting, but whether it was Aunt Klaske with Uncle Simon from Sneek or Aunt Jo with Uncle Hampie from Heerenveen, I’m not sure. But now that I think of it, it may well have been that the neighbors of number 20, Maarten and Nettie, were visiting and if this was the case, obviously Auntie Bets and Uncle Gijs from nearby would be present. These two were not really related, but we were allowed to address them as relatives.
Around half past twelve I must have been woken up by my mother or my older sisters to celebrate New Year’s Eve. I don’t know if it was because I was excited or if I had a huge urge to defecateat, but in the bathroom a turd the size of a croquette escaped from my buttocks and rolled onto the bathroom floor. My sisters screamed in horror, where my father, probably influenced by some beverages, came running up the stairs, slightly intoxicated, but very amused, to witness my turd-trick. ‘Dray croquette!’, my father shouted, laughing.
I can’t remember anything else about this evening, but I had to hear my new nickname -enthusiastically proclaimed by my father, for many years.














