Soccer isn't greatest memory of this trip

This vacation to the Netherlands has passed its midpoint and my father and I are still enjoying our jaunt through the land of our ancestors.

We have searched for canals, windmills, dikeworks and tulips and found them. I of course have searched for soccer. Along the way, we have found each other and communicated in the way an adult son and his father should, but don't often accomplish.

In a sense, we came searching for Dutch roots, but those roots are over 100 years old. So if we share things in common with the Dutch, it is through the filter of people who have lived the 20th century in the United States.

But there are other roots, Mellema roots, and those are easier to uncover, to the level that adult men go about uncovering such things. So while the shadow of my mother -- who passed away in December, 2006 rides with us often, there are also many discussions about my own children, who I miss terribly and cannot wait to meet again in under a week. Those who know me, understand that soccer plays a disproportionate part in my life. I think about it, fret about it, watch it and, back when I had two good knees, some hair and less girth around my midfield, played the game. So this past weekend was a joy -- three matches in three days.

But before I go into any detail on that, I must say that it was not the most emotional experience I have had. That would be midweek last week, when we took a walk past the Westerkirk, took a right turn along the canal, and started walking through the rooms in which a young Jewish girl hid from the Nazis through World War II. I walked those rooms in which Anne Frank lived and made sure to touch tables, floors, sinks -- as much as was possible. You cannot breathe the air without feeling the fear that existed in this place.

And of course we know how the story ended, but if you try, you can push Anne's death at Auschwitz back just long enough to remember that there was life in this space at one point. Even in the worse of places, there can be life, and Anne's diary is a testament to a person's ability to not let terror terrorize you completely.

But all too quickly, the ending returns. All but one of the people who hid with Anne died. Anne herself died one month before Auschwitz was liberated, and you'd want to say it was a cruel joke, except it's not anything to smile about.

On the way down the stairs, I looked up and a young girl with dark curly hair was bouncing toward the railing, looking for her parents. She looked nothing line Anne, but she was a young girl, behaving as young girls do.

That was when the experience became a little overwhelming, and this reporter needed a moment to collect his thoughts.

So as I briefly describe a wild soccer match, I want to be the latest person to mention that while I have moved past that space by the Westerkirk, its shadow remains with me.

On Friday, I traveled to Groningen to watch Heerenveen play. This is called the Northern Derby in the Netherlands as the teams are 35 miles apart. The atmosphere was electric in a sold-out stadium.

Train schedules ruled this weekend, and I had to leave this match 15 minutes early. Sure enough, Heerenveen scored with 5 minutes to play, proving again, that a large number of goals are scored when you are in the rest room, sneezing, or waiting for trains.

Saturday, I flew to London to meet my connection for an Arsenal ticket. Arsenal being my favorite team, this was a sort of pilgrimage to Mecca. Sadly the match ended 1-1, and I would have left with 15 minutes here if it meant Arsenal would have won. As it was, my voice nearly left me, though there was hardly time to recover as I had to get to Heathrow Airport so I could fly back on Sunday morning.

Returning to Amsterdam, I watched Ajax defeat Willem II, 4-1. Luis Suarez scored a hat trick and I saw them all. Ajax are the Dutch Yankees -- the team with the greatest pedigree in the country, and they played like it.

There are still two more soccer matches and a week's worth of sightseeing to do. I am sure dad and I will make it through this time together. And I will bring my memory of everything back to the U.S. with me.

But I will also bring memories of that young girl too, and I think that's the memory that will mean the most to me as the years pass.