Keepers vs. Doinkers A Story of Fish and Marriage

My family loves to fish. We've been fishing for as long as I can remember. I had my very own little tackle box when I was small. It was red to match my snoopy fishing pole. My favorite lures were the purple worms, and I loved the colorful foam bobbers.

When we caught a fish that was too small we called it a doinker. "Oh, that's a doinker. Throw him back."

And the ones that were big enough were called keepers. "Yeah! That one's a keeper!"

This was pretty standard in my house: "How many fish did you catch today?" "Four doinkers, three keepers." And then the little nod of approval.

When Colin first met my Grandpa, my Grandpa was grumpy. He teasingly asked me why I was going to marry an Irish boy. (We are of Dutch origin, and my Grandpa's big on the whole Dutch thing.)

But after talking to Colin more and getting to know him, my Grandpa pulled me aside and said, "You know what, Pen? I think Colin is a keeper. Not a doinker." I was so proud. I beamed. I hugged him and he gave me the little nod of approval. This was a huge compliment from him. I was thrilled.

So, now in two days, I marry my keeper (even if he is Irish).