Truth from the trenches
By Melissa Hart

It came in a Facebook message one afternoon – the great idea of a fundraiser for the Michigan Junior Holstein Assoc., of which I am an advisor: To have a dunk tank set up at the All-Michigan Holstein Show held at the MSU Pavilion in East Lansing. There would be three possible targets and people would put money in the jar of the person they wanted to see in the dunk tank.

So far, so good. I liked this idea.

The MJHA board members began discussing names and a long list of possible targets was posted. As I went through the list, I was really liking their choices and was thinking how difficult it would be to narrow the field down to just three. Then I saw it: At the bottom of the list was – you guessed it – MY name.

Oh how quickly they all came to a consensus that I would be one of the three targets. Being the fun kind of gal that I am, and I wouldn’t dare disappoint these kids because I love them so much, I said, “Sure, why not?”

Of course I had a plan and my plan never included putting on a t-shirt and shorts and hopping in a cold dunk tank to be anybody’s victim. I began to scheme that I would just take any money that was in my jar and stuff it in the other two jars and it would all be good.

However, I didn’t count on a smarter advisor to come up with an even better idea to foil my evil scheme. Instead of cash in the jars, she suggested we sell tickets and the folks would vote with their tickets and there would be a different-color ticket for each target. Great idea – NOT!

It was the day of the big event and the Barn Party and the Dunk Tank were set up and ready to go. Peeking into my bucket of pink tickets, I was not concerned in the least; my bucket had nowhere near as many as the others. I assumed I dodged that bullet and I would not be getting wet.

My first mistake was in underestimating the power of three young ladies selling tickets for a good cause. The afternoon before the Barn Party, I watched as three MJHA members combed the barns with pink tickets in hand, and they were on a mission to fill my bucket.

I begged and pleaded with them, I played the sympathy card; nope, nothing. They were relentless, until they had my bucket full of tickets.

When it was time for me to get in the dunk tank, I was kicking and screaming and demanding a recount. To no avail; the MJHA board members made the executive decision to have all three victims climb up on a perch and wait as a bunch of sharp-eyed hurlers began hitting the target.

As I sat there, cringing at the cold, murky water below, I tried to prepare myself to be dunked. There was no preparing when that target was hit – there was no delay, I was in that water. And let me tell you, it was so cold it took my breath away!

They laughed and hooted and hollered and had a great time as they watched me climb back up on that perch to wait for another mean child to hit the target. I tried my hand at intimidation, but those little kids just kept hitting that target.

By the time I got done, I made the decision: The next time a great idea for a fundraiser comes up, I’m going to keep my mouth shut.