Life Stories

Reflections on my upbringing, fatherhood, and trying to be a better person.

A Peewee, a Plymouth, and a Tired Pops

I was 12, a Peewee hockey player on the A team. Honestly, though, I sat the bench a lot that year. 

I was one of the younger kids. We didn’t have enough players for a B team, otherwise I would have been on it. It’s not that I was a terrible player. It’s just that if you live in northern Minnesota where I’m from you need to be great. I was decent. More precisely, I was fourth line, left wing. Coach put me in when the score was “we definitely won’t lose.” 

First Responder

I am the first responder to a deceased cat. 

Hit and run. It is unrecognizably flattened, but I’m pretty sure it belongs to Cindy, my next-door neighbor. The difficult part is I don’t know for sure, so I need to ask her to come out and, you know, identify the body. 

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