Reflections on my upbringing, fatherhood, and trying to be a better person.
I am writing you from a makeshift hunting blind on the outer edge of my backyard. My sons Silas and August sit cross-legged beside me in the cool grass. Silas holds a yellow mason’s string tied to a twig 30 yards away. The twig props a cardboard box leaning upside down over rabbit pellets. Rabbit […]
Kids 1, Quarantine 0 Read More »
I was 16 when Adam Grafstrom asked me to join his band. He and Tony Erickson, the drummer, needed a bass player for their classic rock cover band. I was terrified. Real bands stood directly in front of people. I was used to church bands. We sat off to the side, like an orchestra pit.
Stage Fright at the Kittson County Fair Read More »
I grew up in a small house with three sisters and one bathroom. Add my mom and dad, and you don’t have to be a mathematician to know that’s an equation begging for logistical problems. Given the number of scheduling conflicts over the course of a childhood, I learned to travel the path of least
How to Grow Up with 3 Sisters and 1 Bathroom Read More »
Are you married? If you are, there’s a good chance my mom was the pianist in your wedding.
Was My Mom the Pianist at Your Wedding? Read More »
Last summer I wrote a blog post called An Open Letter to Mitch Garver of the Minnesota Twins. It’s about Silas, my 7-year-old son, and his obsession with the major league baseball player.
Mitch Garver Responds! Read More »
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
A Peewee, a Plymouth, and a Tired Pops Read More »
I used to watch my dad carve the turkey. He had one of those electric knives that looks like a mini hedge trimmer. I can’t wait to do that someday, I thought to myself.
The Day I Carved My First Turkey Read More »
I asked my mom to dig up this photo. I wanted to show it to you because I remember this particular Halloween more than any other. That’s me in the middle—my sister Erica on the left, Ingrid on the right. It’s 1987, the year my sister Greta was born. I remember this Halloween because there
Sunday morning church service. I am 15 and it’s my performance debut. Pastor Joe prays before the offering is received. Upon “amen” I’m supposed to start a picking pattern on my acoustic guitar that will accompany my sisters singing.
My First-Ever Performance Read More »
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.