Dangle

John, The Fisherman

My father-in-law, John, had a game we eventually named Dangle. I don't know if he ever called it that himself, but the name fit perfectly. Looking back, I don't think anyone ever played it better.

The rules were simple. Find something someone cared deeply about, then casually take the opposite side. If you were a Cubs fan, he'd tell you they'd never win another World Series. If you loved the Bears, he'd remind you the Packers had always been the better organization. Show up in a shiny new Tesla and he'd explain why gasoline engines were still the only sensible choice. The topic didn't matter. Sports, cars, restaurants, politics—he always knew exactly where to cast the line.

Then he'd wait.

Sometimes the lure drifted by untouched. But every now and then someone couldn't help themselves. "You've got to be kidding." "No way." "You're completely wrong." That's when you'd see it—a little grin that almost said, Got one. He wasn't looking for a fight. He was fishing. Once someone bit, the conversation took on a life of its own. Two people became four. Four became six. Suddenly everyone had an opinion, someone was telling a story from twenty years ago to prove a point, and the whole group was laughing while trying to convince everyone else they were right.

For years, I thought he simply enjoyed arguing. It wasn't until much later that I realized I'd misunderstood the whole thing. He didn't really care whether the Cubs were better than the Sox, or Ford was better than Chevy, or electric cars would someday replace gas engines. The opinions themselves were never the point. The conversation was.

Some people can walk into a room and tell a joke that gets everyone laughing. Others can tell a story that holds everyone's attention. My father-in-law had a different gift. He knew how to get people talking to each other. One harmless comment was all it took to break people out of small talk and pull everyone into the same conversation.

What made him special was that there was never any meanness behind it. He wasn't trying to embarrass anyone or prove he was the smartest guy in the room. If anything, he was giving everyone else the stage. He loved watching people defend something they believed in, laugh at themselves, and enjoy the back-and-forth. Even the person who realized they'd just taken the bait usually ended up laughing the hardest.

Looking back, I think Dangle was really his way of connecting with people. It broke the ice with strangers, livened up family gatherings, and turned ordinary afternoons into memories that we all remember. He had a way of making everyone feel like they belonged because sooner or later, everyone found themselves in the conversation.

I miss the master dangler. No one ever played the game quite like he did. He caught more "fish" than anyone I've ever known, but he always let them go with a smile. There was never a winner or a loser, because that was never the game.

Every family has someone who integral to its soundtrack. They're the reason conversations get louder, laughter carries across the room, and nobody seems to be in a hurry to leave. My father-in-law was that person. The debates have long since faded, but the laughter he created still echoes whenever our family gets together.

Every now and then, someone will throw out an outrageous opinion just to see who reacts first. I always smile when it happens.

For just a second, it feels like the master dangler is still casting a line.

About Greenland Sharks

Greenland Sharks is a Chicago men's group who value friendship, experiences, and the long swim. Just a crew that shows up. No speeches. No name tags. No nonsense.

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