if i sent any pm’s to anyone within the last couple days it was not me.
my friend might have come on my account and spammed people.
You spelled damn wrong. It has an N on the end.
I thought he was talking about his friend with his finger in the hole.
Actually I think that would be a “Dike” friend… STORY TIME!!!
The Boy at the Dike
Many years ago， there lived a boy who did a brave deed． His name was Peter， and he lived in Holland， a country by the sea．
In Holland， the sea presses in on the land so much that the people built big walls of earth and stone to hold back the water． Every little child in Holland was taught that these big walls， called dikes， must be watched at every moment． No water must be allowed to come through the dikes． Even a hole no longer than your little finger was a very dangerous thing．
One afternoon in the early fall， when Peter was seven years old， his mother called to him． “Come Peter，” she said． “ I want you to go across the dike and take these cakes to your friend， the blind man． If you go quickly， you will be home again before dark．”
Peter was happy to go， because his friend， the blind man lived alone and was always glad to have a visitor． When he got to the blind man’s home， Peter stayed a while to tell him of his walk along the dike． He told about the bright sun and the flowers and the ships far out at sea． Then Peter remembered that his mother wanted him to return home before dark． So he said good-bye and set out for home．
As he walked along， he noticed how the water beat against the side of the dike． There had been much rain， and the water was higher than before． Peter remembered how his father always spoke of the “angry waters．”
“I suppose father thinks they're angry，” thought Peter， “because we have been keeping them out for so long． Well， I am glad these dikes are so strong． If they gave way， what would become of us？ All these fields would be covered with water． Then what would happen to the flowers， and the animals， and the people﹖”
Suddenly Peter noticed that the sun was setting． Darkness was settling on the land． “Mother will be watching for me，” he said． “I must hurry．” But just then he heard a noise． It was the sound of trickling water！ He stopped， looked down， and saw a small hole in the dike， through which a tiny stream was flowing．
A leak in the dike！ Peter understood the danger at once． If water ran through a little hole， it would soon make a larger one， then the waters could break through and the land would be flooded！
Peter saw what he must do． He climbed down the side of the dike and put his finger in the tiny hole． The water stopped！ “The angry waters will stay back now，” said Peter． “I can keep them back with my finger． Holland will not be drowned while I am here．”
But then he thought， “How long can I stay here﹖” Already it was dark and cold．
Peter called out， “Help！ Is anyone there？ Help!” But no one heard him． No one came to help．
It grew darker and colder still． Peter’s arm began to grow stiff and numb． “Will no one come﹖” he thought． Then he shouted again for help． And when no one came， he cried out， “Mother! Mother!”
Many times since sunset， his mother had looked out at the dike and expected to see her little boy． She was worried， but then she thought that perhaps Peter was spending the night with his blind friend， as he had done before． “Well，” she thought， “when he gets home in the morning， I will have to scold him for staying away from home without permission．”
Poor Peter！ He would rather have been home than else in the world， but he could not move from the dike． He tried to whistle(17) to keep himself company， but he couldn’t because his teeth chattered(18) with cold． He thought of his brother and sister in their warm beds， and of his father and mother． “I must not let them be drowned,” he thought．“I must stay here until someone comes.”
The moon and stars looked down on the shivering child． His head was bent(19) and his eyes closed， but he was not asleep． Now and then he rubbed(20) the hand that was holding back the angry waters．
Morning came． A man walking along the dike heard a sound， something like a groan(21)． He bent down and saw the child below． He called out， “What’s the matter， boy？ Are you hurt？ Why are you sitting there﹖”
In a voice faint(22) and weak，the boy said，“I am keeping the water from coming in． Please， tell them to come quickly!”
The man ran to get help． People came with shovels(23) to fix the dike， and they carried Peter， the little hero(24)， home to his parents．
It is many a year since then； but still，
When the sea roars like a flood，
The children are taught what a child can do
Who is brave and true and good．
For all the mothers and fathers
Take their children by the hand
And tell them of brave little Peter
Whose courage saved the land．
Hey, now, let’s keep these forums clean. 
Now Mr. Potter, Catboy said ‘dike’, not ‘dyke’. Who’s dirtying up the forum?
i know im not stupid just lazy:D.
and this is far from formal writing
aren’t we worthy of your ‘formal’ writing?
k
kewl
whatever
This story is actually well-known in Holland (and in the Netherlands in general I might add). However, the boy’s name was Hans Brinkers according to tradition.
Klaas Bil
I vote for peter
And I vote Hans.
I vote for Peter, because my name is unofficially Peter. Last year in art class, one kid thought my name was Peter, and even though I corrected him, he persisted to call me Peter.
My real name is Michael, though.
Jeez.
First, I learn that London-dwelling Sofa actually lives on the same continent as me (there is more than one London, FYI). That fact neatly explained how he managed to drive to the MUni weekend in New York state and why he has no trace of a British accent. Man, was I confused… Oh, the “other” London!
Now I learn that James Potter’s name is really Michael.
My world is coming apart at the seams. I don’t know what is real anymore. I’m going to go count the wheels on my unicycle.
uni57? uni57. Now there’s a name I have not heard in a long time. A long time. (i need you to email me please…i’m hoping you have a graphic i can use) brianandleeanne@sympatico.ca
It’s either that, or Peter. I’m not entirely sure anymore.
It’s a mad mad mad mad world, huh?
And here I am spending all this time thinking your name was Chuck.
Now who am I going to call chuck?
Checkernuts sounds sort of like Chuck. Sort of. I say we call you Chuck!
But his name is Mike, his hair is the checkered part…
Oh and FYI I have never owned any cats, except for one that was made of a sock and some buttons…
what hair is checkered on checkernuts?
Peter Potter? Nah.