I'm with Kap.

If you’ve never seen the movie Watchmen, the opening credits (which this scene was taken from) is easily one of the best done ones I’ve ever seen, which says a lot because I am highly addicted to movies! It’s a scene which illuminates the tragedy at Kent State where a peaceful protest was broken up with uncalled for military force. It’s also a great way to start a blog post where I will defend Colin Kaepernick’s National Anthem protest.

I am very surprised (actually I’m not at all unfortunately) with the reaction that this protest has received. From people saying that he should be thrown out of the league for not standing for the National Anthem, people calling him un-American, saying he has no right to say anything because he makes so much money playing a game, and even bringing up his heritage as a half white, half black man, and those were the nicest of the things that people were saying!

But here’s the thing, for everyone who says that this protest is backwards, that he shouldn’t be disgracing the Anthem because it stands for everything he’s trying to fight for, you’re wrong. The National Anthem was derived from a poem from Francis Scott Key, a poem which ends with some pretty racists things:

"And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country, should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:"

What this portion of the poem is referring to, is the fact that the British offered to free any slaves who joined their forces (A promise they kept) and Key is relishing in the fact that they were able kill so many of the traitorous slaves (which in itself is a pretty big oxymoron).

But, what we celebrate is the first part of the anthem and many, many years ago (actually only in 1931) this was declared to be our National Anthem which was to represent everything that America stands for, and what we’ve recently found out, there is a heavy emphasis on the “Stands.”

So if I was a black man or woman, or heck if I had had relatives somewhere down the line who had been slaves, then I could see taking offense to this song, despite it being our National Anthem, but I think we all know that the slavery thing isn’t what this protest is about. What it’s about is the perceived amount of social injustice the black and other minority individuals and groups have to face every day. Something that is hard to dispute, and given the increased notoriety and exposure of the most recent, questionable shootings we have seen across all media (social, mass and all channels really), it is hard to dispute that there certainly is an issue that needs addressing.

Eric Reid joins Kaepernick's protest

So what happened after those shootings? What most people remember is the mass rioting and the call that all police officers are bad, and by rioting I mean they burnt shit down! And by all cops are bad, I mean some crazy bastards went after innocent officers and killed them, simply because they were wearing a badge (a badge which reads, “To Serve and Protect” even!). To say there was unease in this country is a massive understatement.

So some time passes, and Mr. Kaepernick has some time to think about all of these issues that minorities are facing, and as a professional athlete in arguably the most popular sport in the world (it has to be getting a little closer to soccer by now right?), he says that he can do what so many of those other people can’t or wouldn’t do. He can take a stand by taking a knee.

Now taking a knee was not his initial posture as I’m sure will be pointed out to me, he sat down during the National Anthem and the country went batshit (See how popular football is?). He is not a veteran protestor, he is a human being who saw some injustice and wanted to bring some attention to the cause and to do so in a nonviolent way. After the first initial backlash and his explanation, he has now started taking a knee rather than sitting, so that he can still show respect to the men and women who have fought and died protecting his right to protest.

That’s right people, those people that you are so concerned for, the ones who have fought and died for our freedoms, including the freedom of speech and the freedom to peaceful protest, those are the things they are fighting for! So when people say that Kaepernick and the others who have now joined him are un-American they are downright wrong. Other than a few people’s feelings, he is not hurting anyone or anything.

Kaepernick has been joined by players from other teams:

here opposite Brandon Marshall from the Denver Broncos

But there are people out there that say things like, in this country we stand for the national anthem, and if you don’t like this country than you can leave!

But those are truly the un-American people; they don’t get what this country is about at all. We disagree all of the time, and I guarantee that a lot of the people who have been vehemently bashing Collin Kaepernick and the rest of the NFL protestors have also spent plenty of time bashing the President of the United States of America, which seems like it would be un-American as well, but once again that would not follow suit with what this country was based on, and the rights and freedoms that men and women fight and die for every day. You get a say in the conversation, and you may be chastised for it, but not punished by law unless you are threatening or violent.

A lot of people are also bashing Collin because he is no longer the starting quarterback for his team and they say that he is just an attention grabber, that he’s simply doing this to be in the spotlight. I also have a problem with this. The man was the starting quarterback for a team that appeared in the Super Bowl just a few short years ago. If the subject of the protest wasn’t so important to him do you think he’d really be drawing all this attention to himself and occupying the time with the media which could be spent on trying to win his spot back? Football obviously is not the most important thing on this man’s mind as of right now.

He’s a spoiled rich kid from a mixed race family. He hasn’t known the true troubles of the people he is defending and really shouldn’t get a say in it.

Right after 49 individuals were killed at the Pulse Night Club in Orlando, I made a Facebook post stating that I was a gun owner, that I loved shooting and hunting, but that I felt that it was time to do something towards stricter gun laws. I said I wasn’t sure what we could do, but that it was time to start the conversation towards change. It wasn’t up a minute before I was being attacked for wanting to eliminate all guns. I had to double check what I had posted because I didn’t remember saying anything like that, but I was certainly being called out by several individuals.

Generally I’m pretty socially passive about these things. I might have an opinion, but I’m not going to voice it as I know that backlash for certain topics is flat out crazy (that’s right guys, you’re fucking crazy), but this bothered me as we had just recently lost all of these innocent people and it seemed like individuals were more concerned with their guns than with real human lives! Remember, I wasn’t saying anything about taking guns away, just stricter gun laws, or any ideas on how to work towards keeping the guns away from mentally unstable individuals…fucking crazy.

So I said screw this, I’m fighting the good fight here because idiots generally drown out the voice of the reasonable and I wanted my voice heard about working towards a better future with less gun violence. I matched every comment I received and even started commenting on other posts, kept stirring the pot to call out all of the lies people tell on subjects they find so near and dear to their own wellbeing. It was a strenuous task, and I’m sure I didn’t gain any friends by doing it, and the bottom line result from the whole thing was nil. Time passed and apparently our country once again forgot about gun violence as we’re so apt to do once the NRA and their enthusiasts get involved. Congress staged some sit-ins but then went on their scheduled break, so as most people generally thought may happen, we returned to the same shit, us just sitting back waiting for the next mass shooting to occur.

My point with my experience is this, I’m nobody. I’m just your average middle class Caucasian American who grew up in a good home and who writes silly thoughts on a silly blog. My stage is pretty small as I climb upon this soap box where we have about 200 people who once clicked the “like” button on our Page and I can also share my posts with all of my Facebook “friends,” many of which (like most individuals on Facebook) I have not spoken with or seen in years.

Now look at the stage the Kaepernick commands. The man sits down during the National Anthem and the next day the whole country and a lot of the world all of a sudden is drawn to this man and his message. It’s a big commitment, that little act of revolution.

And it shouldn’t matter if he’s black, white, both or something else. The Seattle Seahawks show of support for the message was without question on point. They stood in unity, not as a support strictly for the flag and against Kaepernick, but in unity for unity. What Kaepernick is fighting shouldn’t be a black thing; it should be a people thing. We should all be pissed off by the injustice we have now all been exposed to through police and anti-police violence, and an individual brave enough to stand up (or sit down, or kneel) in order to get the conversation started again should be heralded for his non-violent protest, which is an unalienable right of all people in a democracy.

I never thought I'd be a fan of anything Richard Shermann ever did,

but this show of Unity by the Seattle Seahawks was truly patriotic.

I stand with Kaepernick on this issue, because it’s an issue that needs to be addressed. It’s similar to why I made a stand for stricter gun laws. I live in this little utopian realm where when I see injustice, I feel like it’s my moral obligation to try and make it right if I have the power. In America we all get a voice, what we do with it is completely up to us.

So how will you use your voice? Will you sit and complain how this person is ruining your favorite past time by not standing during the national anthem (while you probably sit on your couch or easy chair watching the game), or will you respect the balls it takes to continue to kneel despite all the pressure he’s facing not only about his cause, but while trying to keep his job?

It is your unalienable right to disagree with me, but don’t try to say that what he is doing goes against America, because it is what makes America great, and look at that, we didn’t even need Trump to get us here!

A Life Lesson in Progress...

The summer of 2016 was certainly a great one for us at Voyageur's View, as we dealt with more and more families and just generally great individuals of all sorts. We had far too many rainy Saturdays, so our overall numbers were certainly down compared to what they have been in the past, but as we make a concentrated effort to provide a better camping experience for all, the experience is becoming a better one for our guests, our staff, ourselves and we'd like to think, our community. But our transition hasn’t been an easy one...

 When Christopher Ingraham first came to town last summer I spent some time discussing with him how our campground had once been known as a "party" campground and that we had really been doing our best to make it more favorable for families and just anyone who was looking for a great camping experience and he asked me, "How? How do you go from a party atmosphere like that to a family friendly one?" and that question certainly gave me pause.

 Ten years ago we decided that we had had enough of the crazy antics of some of the individuals who kept coming to our campground. We were certainly starting to get older (although I was only 23 at the time), but more than that, we knew that we had a beautiful facility that our parents had worked so hard to make a reality and we didn't like seeing people come in and destroy it. I would also say that it was pretty safe to say that a lot of the community did not respond favorably to our crowds or our operation. We knew that we didn't want to keep running it the same way, but the question first arose then.

 How do you turn a "party" campground into a family friendly one?

Well the answer had to start with the problem. How do we eliminate the individuals and groups who just want to come and destroy the place, party and leave? For those of you who remember how the place used to look mid weekend, there would be tents all the way out to the road and garbage would be flying all over the place as the clientele at that time did not care how the place looked. So we started with that issue. We started by cutting back the number of sites that we rented for our busiest weekends a little each year. We then would make golf cart trips around the campground to remind people to make sure they were using their garbage barrels and bags so that their garbage wasn't blowing around everywhere. It seemed like a pretty simple request, but when we would come back later, the garbage would still be flying all over the place. So our next step was to tell these individuals that they now had 30 minutes to pick up their garbage or they would be told to leave our campground.

 I know it seems a little harsh, but we needed to take a stand against the elements that were ruining our beautiful park and garbage was certainly an easy thing for individuals to keep track of, and after getting a warning such as that, it should be easy enough to get your crew to grab a couple pieces here and there and pick up your site. But if they didn't have it picked up in the allotted time, well, you never get anywhere with idle threats, so we evicted sites.

 It is important to note, too, that at this point we still were not taking any sort of damage deposit for our sites; it wasn't until our sister started insisting on taking a credit card imprint to make sure the sites got clean that we had any other sort of recourse than to remove individuals. If you ever drove by after a long weekend and saw our crew out picking up heaps and heaps of garbage, it was all done by individuals who paid less than $12 per site.

 I could go on and on about the horror stories of how asking people to pick up their garbage would even lead to fist fights and the involvement of the very awesome Sheriff's Office we have here in Red Lake County, but suffice it to say that without steadfast determination to vastly improve the atmosphere of our campground, there is no way we would still be around.

 Our security personnel back in the day (which usually consisted of our dad, Ryan, myself and few awesome local friends) really should have been getting hazard pay. They didn't take a lot of crap from the really bad people they were dealing with, but because of that, they made it known pretty loud and clear that certain behavior would no longer be tolerated at our facility. Patrick Swayze's Road House character certainly could have been inspired by some of these awesome guys that we had working for us!

 So we kept dwindling the numbers of our campsites until we got to what we felt was a manageable number, where we didn't need a staff of 10 - 12 guys at night to ensure things weren't getting burned down and our security crew got a bit tamer.

 We next had a great crew who had some military and law enforcement background who took the reins for us, as we had started to see a decline in the individuals who were only coming to destroy stuff and started to deal with more individuals who had serious attitude problems. This group of security was awesome because not only were they good at conversing with our guests, but when a problem did arise they knew the legal code and were able to assist our local law enforcement in not only making sure any perpetrators were being caught, but that they were also being prosecuted.

 Who wants to come back to a place where you actually have accountability anyway?

 We seriously can't thank all of the crews that came before enough; they paved the way for our new breed of security guards, who are certainly more on the customer service realm of the spectrum than anything else. They are as personable as you could hope for and they also have a background in bouncing at bars around the area so they have had their share of dealings with intoxicated individuals.

 It doesn't really seem to matter what you do, or where you camp, chances are you're going to run into individuals who have had a few drinks. Ninety-nine percent of the time, this is not an issue, most people are pretty fun loving and respectful regardless of their impaired state, but every now and again, we still get groups or individuals who push the boundaries a little too far, and only in extreme cases do we ask any of these groups to leave the night of an incident. Our general rule now is to make sure the group is in bed, not being a pain for the groups around them and then we go and speak with them in the morning to tell them that they are no longer welcome at our facility. We then speak with the groups surrounding the problem site and let them know what the situation is, and try and reassure the other groups that this is an isolated incident rather than the norm. More times than not, we will also refund the groups around the problem site so they know how seriously sorry we are that they had to put up with the rude behavior of the other campers.

 So after explaining all of this to Chris, we then had a few weekends where we dealt with some real jerks. They were removed from our facility for various infractions of our rules and were certainly very rude to our staff and other campers while they stayed with us and on their exit from our facility.

 In the past we would deal with these individuals while we were removing them, lose a night or two of sleep over it, and then just get back to dealing with great individuals. But those times of only dealing with these jerks at our facility appear to be over, as the new generation of (excuse my French) assholes, are now taking to the internet to bash our (and I'm sure every other) company for not allowing them to do whatever the hell they want.

 We saw it all this year from false allegations of sexual assault, to made up user names and emails to leave multiple reviews to hurt our overall rating, to a really classy group who tried to target the family market by claiming they had been down to our facility with their families and had a terrible experience because of our rude staff and terrible facilities.

 The good news is that we have a lot of individuals who come to our facility once a week (if not more) all summer long. Groups who have been coming since we opened in 1985, who once brought their wedding party but now bring their grand kids. We also know that we maintain our facilities better than most campgrounds because the thing is not a business to us, but another part of our family. As far as our staff goes, these reviewers better watch out because we have the absolute best kids that work for us. Saying something bad about them is not a wise thing to do. We have always been a family business and those kids (a lot of them are kids of individuals who will read this) are like little brothers and sisters to us (maybe kids as we're no longer that young I guess!).

 We've tried to provide a family type atmosphere to our guests because our end of the operation has always been a family atmosphere. The kids that worked for our parents in 1985 still come back to check on our dad as well as tell stories of our mom. They come to see the place where they probably had their first job, and second family. We'd like to think that it's the same reason that our guests return year after year, and week after week.

 For years we had it listed on our website that we did not recommend our activity for families on the weekends due to the crowd we drew. There are still remnants of that crowd that we are working diligently on removing (damn the reviews!) but this year we re-did our website and removed that as well as told a little more of our story, to let people know that we are a family run operation that encourages family to take part in our activity.

 Maybe it was the fact that we lost our mom far too early or the fact that when that happened, those same wonderful kids that we consider brothers and sisters took over the operation for us so we could grieve. Maybe it’s the fact that although many businesses are brick and mortar, ours has many moving parts including a heart that beats stronger everyday with the wonderful guests and staff we get to call friends and family.

 Ask me how you change a "party" campground into a family campground and I certainly won't have any direct answer, but for us it's always been one and we won't stop improving the atmosphere until it feels the same way for all of our great guests. Partiers, Internet Trolls, and everything else I'm sure we'll see in the years to come are but side notes to the unbelievable people we get to serve and work beside every day. Plus, there is no state more beautiful as the one we live in, and the natural beauty of Red Lake Falls certainly sells itself, just ask Chris, Bri, Jack and Charles Ingraham!

Part 1 of the Adventures in the North: The Unfamiliar within the Familiar.

On Friday evenings, I drink. Heavily. I should blame it on being a Midwestern Northern WASP male. But I don't, I blame it on being alive and I blame it on myself for letting my job grind me up into a working-man-zombie-burger, USDA Prime, aged 32 years. And while the blame is being divvied out: I blame the repeal of the 18th amendment, Jimmy Carter and the states California and Washington for spearheading the craft brew movement, Kentucky for the sweet, delicious, scrumtrulescent nectar of the Old Gods: bourbon, and the human race for it's pure luck and ingenuity; our proclivity for taking every advantage of a fortuitous accident. The birth of the new is rooted in the Chaos of the present. Not that I'm going to drag us into the philosophical rabbit hole or make you choose the pill that makes you larger against the one that makes you smaller. If so inclined, go ask Alice. Or, in good faith, Jefferson Airplane.

I digress; detoured not lost; Fridays I drink because I work.

You work, you get paid, you drink.
You get bandannas and ice cream when you win at the track.
That's life.

So I do what WASPS do. I took a vacation. A homecoming actually, but without the pomp and circumstance. Just to my liking.

 Minnesota. I hadn't been home during the summer since 2013, I think. On account of weather, don't feel bad for me. Especially if you're from the North. I know you won't. I live in the land of perpetual sunshine. California. Is not a sentence, but a land of many things: the bear flag (badass), Surf City, Fame, Xanax and Chardonnay Lunch. But at this time of year there is a small window of time in the cosmic experience where the weather in my two homes, Minnesota & California, is essentially the same. There was a slight bump in humidity, but summertime Minnesota, next to a lake, during the summer, has Orange County California beat in the beauty contest by droves of mosquitoes. Correction, swarms of mosquitoes. 

Minnesota, in a canoe, on a lake, during the summer, is heaven. Here's my friend, Ed, who braved the waters in the canoe with me. Thanks for paddling 5 miles with me, Ed. Not to mention the 10 miles of mountain biking.

If it weren't for the open plains and perfect square sections of land I got a bird's eye view of coming in, it seemed the tin-can time machine, owned and operated by Allegiant Airlines, failed to transport me across time & space. Irony is proof of God, for irony can be no other than God's sense of humor, which is, by necessity, wonderful. That said, it is quite ironic that time travel takes so long. The time magnified and slowed exponentially by the pain developing in your ass. Airplane seats suffer the same disarming fate of anything that could be good: value engineering.

But the flights were uneventful this time around. I'm grateful for that. Fuck turbulence.

The North Farmlands. Just outside of Fargo.
Look at all that open space, California.

I wrote another blog about home in 2014. You can find that here. This piece is not that one. Here, I explore and discover within the familiar. In 2014, I expressed the feeling of the familiar - the experience of being home. While this piece and that one may share feeling, sentiment and nostalgia, the following, I hope, is more experiential and experimental than it is existential; though I am sure it is that as well. This one has 137% more pictures though, so... there is that.

First off, I became a Godfather and an uncle. I told you God has a sense of humor. I'm sure Grady will grow up to be a fine man. I would only be concerned with the influence of his Godfather. That should probably be limited for the dude is a little off. Also part of life.

Second, I drank there too. Though not as much as Fridays in general, except for the Thursday I was there. That was like a Friday. 

When in the North, drink it.

So after flying in to Fargo, spending Saturday and part of Sunday with my in-laws, attending the baptism and swearing in of the new Godfather, I parted ways with my in-laws and my wife. Taking my ever faithful shadow dog Tater-Tot, we ventured off to my hometown, Lake Bronson, MN thanks to my good friend and resident mad-man, Josh (more on him later) who delivered me from Fargo to Grand Forks and my wonderful mother, who, in the big city, was searching for a new fridge since the one at home from the Reagan years finally died, brought me the rest of the way. Not that it matters but  Lake Bronson is home to less people than were on my flight to Fargo, but I love it just the same. Perhaps because of that.

My faithful companion Tater Tot seen here
making sure the Frisbee is dead before
demanding I bring it back from the dead
by throwing it. Again. And again. And..

So once I was settled in and my parents grew accustomed to this silly man-bun thing I had going on, I had a couple beers, some Pizza Corner pizza (one of the old and one of the new, not the same), and got some rest for I had plans for next day.

Monday, I awoke, made some coffee while I allowed Tater out in the wide open nothing to do her morning business, and searched around some of the sheds on the property for a mountain bike. Once procuring said bike, I loaded it into a car that was much too small to handle said bike and hence required the assistance of what is called a "bungee strap" (or "tarp strap" to you weirdos) in order to deliver it, flat tires and rusted chain, to my father's auto shop. After some penetrating oil and dry graphite lubrication, as well as some adjustment to the breaks and shifting mechanisms, I was able to get the bike back into working order. 

My wife's bike, which had found it's home on my parents
property, gets set for another voyage. It proved to almost
kill me, or rather I did by way of it.

The bike was a necessity, for my plan was to bike to and within Lake Bronson State Park. The town of Lake Bronson was once referred to just as Bronson. During the depression, the WPA was utilized to dam the river in the neighboring area and create a lake. Thus the state park and the lake, christened Lake Bronson for the town, came into existence. Then, the town was renamed Lake Bronson. A lake named for the town, the town named for the lake. God at work again with that irony.

I packed backpack, water, granola bars, a towel, and my wife's extremely expensive camera (what could wrong?), drowned myself in sunblock, packed what I thought was a working bottle of mosquito repellent and took off for the park. It's a mile out of town, but due to a grant the town received, a bike path has been built from town to the park, and to the dam. Not that it's really needed. There isn't much traffic. There isn't any traffic, really. I raced a tractor into town during the week and mostly won that race. But I'm mostly out of shape too. So I'm mostly just awesome then. According to my Fitbit it took me 12 minutes to make it from town to the dam. Maybe not so awesome, but it was a fun ride. I took some pictures:

The Lake Bronson dam from the down river side. It was flowing really well when I was home due to a recent bout of rains in the area. A great roar of water filled my ears while it took me 20 attempts at a panoramic.

Here is really bad picture of a picture inside of a plaque
depicting the construction of the dam in 1937.

There is much more to share and as such, I planned from the start to break this up in parts. Probably a trilogy because trilogies are awesome but I won't know for sure until I get there. Some highlights from the next episode!

*Mike sees a boat!

*enters the ranger station for the first time in his life

*climbs a popular attraction

*remembers to remember he's just an okay swimmer

*almost dies! Bears live here..

I hope you come around for part 2. Some personal notes on me right now:

Listening to: "White Bear" by The Temperance Movement

Reading or recently read: Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, "For Whom the Bell Tolls" by Ernest Hemingway, "Catch 22" by Joseph Heller. Upcoming reads: "Jailbird" and "Mother Night" by Kurt Vonnegut and "The Grapes of Wrath" by John Steinbeck.

Whiskey & the Wolves is still being built member by member, football season is coming up, and I'm just learning how to deal with long hair like the California hippie I'm supposed to be. Here's proof of how terrible I am at it. Take care, readers and may we meet again on the long road back to the middle.

~Mikey

Purple Rain Kind of Day

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.”

When I found out that Prince had passed away, it was the first time that I remember almost being moved to tears by the death of a celebrity, other than Robin Williams. As I checked in with social media (Twitter and Facebook) I noticed so many tributes to this great artist and how it seemed like people around the world were mourning this man who so few actually knew. I began to think, like the minority it seemed, that maybe I was over thinking the kind of loss I should be feeling.

I never went to a Prince concert, although I really always wanted to attend one. I had never been one of the many, many lucky people to see him just hanging around his hometown of Minneapolis either, despite spending quite a bit of time around the Chanhassen area while my brother and sister both taught at neighboring Mound, MN.

So what was my claim to sorrow? Why did I feel like I lost a friend, or at least an idol?

Music does a funny thing to people. A song can capture an exact feeling or moment that you seem to be experiencing. It can also release you from sorrow or pain and allow you to ease tension and just let loose. Prince, above any other artist out there, wrote music that just made you feel good. His Funk/Pop mix made it impossible to not get hooked into the groove and want to get up and dance.

The not so subliminal messages behind the music made him a constant enemy of Tipper Gore and are one of the main reasons why we now have the “Explicit Lyrics” label adorning many albums that come out, but there was certainly a form of poetry even in the most lude of Prince’s lyrics. Often he would not just come out and say he was talking about sex, he would use metaphor and innuendo to let your mind wander to those places on their own, and in doing so helped to unleash your most unclean desires and yearnings. It sounds crazy right? Well go listen to some of his music right now! The satire publication, The Onion, posted an article right after Prince’s death was announced that basically said that mourners are too sad to go home and have sex, despite the fact that it was the one thing Prince would want us all to be doing in his memory. The man oozed sex, despite looking like the first openly transgender person the US had ever been introduced to.

About that look…

Prince was completely unapologetically himself. Whatever the hell that might have been. He didn’t care what the world thought of how he looked or even what they thought about his music. He would go on stage wearing a scarf around his neck, a trench coat, a speedo, and of course his patented high heel boots. No one knew what the hell they were seeing, but that sound was something that people could get behind, even if it took him a few albums to really break through. On a side note, I read somewhere that high heels were originally designed for men and they wore them for centuries before it became more common for women to wear them. Whatever the case, to our generation the high heeled boot on a man was distinctly a Prince thing.

About that sound…

More and more people are finding out, albeit too late, that Prince was probably in the top 3 best musicians of all time. The man played every single instrument on his first few studio cut albums before finally allowing Dez Dickerson of The Revolution play a little guitar on an album. I’m not positive how long that continued to be the case on his albums but it’s kind of crazy that The Revolution, the big band he threw together to be his backup on stage, was essentially put together to emulate the same type of high energy, party atmosphere that Prince created by himself in studio.

A member of The Revolution talking about how good of a musician Prince was shared that Prince had been on the cover of Guitar magazine…then Drum magazine…then Keyboard magazine…and even Bass magazine! The man could do it all. Howard Stern asked Dave Grohl of the Foo Fighters (and easily one of my all-time favorite musicians) if he thought Prince was a better musician than him. His response, “He’s a better drummer than me!”

For those of you who don’t know, Dave Grohl is one of the greatest drummers of all time. He was the drummer for several bands before really breaking out with a little band named, Nirvana. He also pulled a Prince and did every instrument for his first album post Nirvana for his now band, Foo Fighters. If you’re a Queens of the Stone Age fan, Grohl was also the drummer for this bands first studio album!

The point is that if we look at the top five musicians of all time, Dave Grohl would definitely have to be in the conversation, but Prince would be the reason for the conversation in the first place. When it comes to sheer talent, there may never be another giant in the industry like Prince…which is funny when you consider this “giant” stood all of 5’2” tall.

My Prince obsession

Back to when I found out that this icon had passed away. I was struggling to wrap my head around why I felt so sad about losing just another musician. But then I got like ten text messages from people who knew how much I liked him telling me he had passed away. How many people received that many people breaking the news to them personally? I guess somewhere along the line I divulged my personal feelings about how great I thought this guy was…

In high school I remember my friend Brad and I having a weird obsession with Luke Uncle Luke, 2 Live Crew, and a bunch of other kind of funky rap/rock bands. No idea what drove us in this direction, but when you think of those bands it’s not really a leap to get to Prince…especially when you consider the first song that I really remember loving of Prince’s being Pussy Control. So yeah, surprise surprise, the first song that a high school boy likes of Prince’s is about pussy. What a vulgar…awesome song.

But then I found out more and more about Prince. He was not only an amazing singer/song writer/composer/instrumentalist, he was also from Minnesota and as I was raised in Minnesota I was ingrained with that unhealthy obsession of our state being the greatest state ever, so instantly I was connected to Prince, much like Bob Dylan…but Prince stayed in Minnesota which makes him the greatest Minnesotan artist of all time, sorry Bobby.

From Pussy Control, my strange obsession continued to flourish as I discovered more and more of his music. Like most artists some of his music just wasn’t for me…I’d even say it sucked. But his hits were amazing and the sounds of even my least favorite songs stuck in my head and were tough to listen to without a little head bobbing or swaying at least.

As I got to college, my love for Prince just grew even more. I was introduced to other Minnesota bands such as Motion City Soundtrack who tried to emulate a bit of the Prince sound and were right up my alley as well. But there was always just one Prince. My friends were forced to listen to his music quite often and as I began to corrupt my younger friend Pat, he and I even decided to throw a Prince theme party with our roommates Nick and Josh.

We decorated our entire house in purple, had Purple Rain playing on loop on the basement television and went to the thrift store and purchased puffy pirate shirts and the tightest leather (or pleather) pants we could find, along with some really terrible Prince wigs. The party that ensued was certainly not one of our largest but had to go down as one of the most fun ones that we ever had. I remember we made a video of us doing random Prince entrance moves, just walking like our shit didn’t stink and then just doing a dead stop and facing the camera. Nick, Pat, and I did that for about 45 minutes before we finally decided that we better rejoin the party. That tape, unfortunately, was taped over and we lost our sweet moves to the ages.

Pat, Jason, & Nick's Prince Party - Circa 2007

Going through old photos on Facebook I found several where I could distinctly remember being motivated due to us listening to Prince music, including about three albums entitled, “While I watch Purple Rain.”

For my friend’s bachelor party we even spent some time at the iconic First Ave. which Prince himself made famous through his movie Purple Rain. We were there for about an hour or so, dancing with girls having some drinks and just partying our asses off to some Prince tunes when another friend showed up and informed us that it was an 18+ club…I thought those girls looked awfully young! Oh well, we had a blast and one of my friends even competed in a dance off, which Prince would have been ashamed of…simply terrible TJ.

If you spend enough time with me, chances are you’re going to have to listen to Prince at some point or another. With our friend Jesse we host a sand volleyball league at our campground in the summer. I purchased a couple of faux rock radios (to shut up our assistant to the bus line security manager) that we use for music during the games and unfortunately for the other teams, I occasionally get put in charge of the music…which is always Prince, the greatest hits. Needless to say, we’ve lost a lot of good volleyball players the past couple of years!

I guess when it comes down to it; I just really dug his music. Some may have called it crass and too sexual…but if you read any Shakespeare you’ll find many of the same elements that you find in some of the most sexual Prince songs. It’s written in what we call flowery language but so are some of the best Prince songs! No matter your feeling about the themes of the songs, there is undoubtedly a poetic composition to everything Prince did, from his music right down to his look. He gave the world a message that will last longer than any of us, just look at his song 1999. It was written in 1982 and was a hit. It was played pretty much around the world 17 years later as we turned our calendars to the year 2000 and 16 years later we’re still rocking it out. The meaning has changed from future, to present, to now us trying to party like we did in the past…but the song remains as good as it originally was intended to be.

I always post a life lesson on my bus each morning for the kids to see and after hearing of the passing of Prince I immediately thought of posting the opening line of this post from Prince’s song, “Let’s Go Crazy,” but after a quick search on the old internet (which Prince thought was going to die off by the way) I found this life lesson which summed up how he lived and is a great lesson for the kids on my bus and all of us: “Despite everything, no one can dictated who you are to other people.”

We can try to be whatever we want. We can bend over backwards to make people like us, but in the end they’re going to make up their own minds so why waste your time pleasing others. Be uniquely you. You can’t make people like you or hate you; they get to make up their own decisions so stop wasting your time worrying about what others think of you. Just be.

In the end, Prince’s lyrics themselves serve as his best eulogy:

"I don’t really care so much what people say about me because it usually is a reflection of who they are.”

“Life is just a party and parties weren’t meant to last.”

In the essence of Humphrey Bogart, “We’ll always have Minneapolis and First Ave.”

Here’s looking at you kid.

Good-night sweet Prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. - William Shakespeare

Grandpa Al

Now those of you who know me on a personal level may be a bit confused by this title for a couple of reasons;

1.  I had an actual blood related Grandpa Al
2. Al Buse was not related to me in the slightest

To touch on the first bullet point; my grandpa Al Braun was one of the greatest men I have ever known. He taught me so many lessons and definitely made me into a much better person because I had him in my life for the first 20 years. He was kind, funny, and absolutely full of shit. He was also the only actual grandparent I have any memory of, so consequently I’ve searched out other such relationships in my life.

Luckily my grandfather had a brother and sister-in-law which helped to serve as another set of makeshift grandparents. Art and Marie were so much like my Grandpa Al that anytime I got to spend with those three taught me so much about honest to god love that it has made me a giant sap who always looks for the best in people and tends to see it even when they don’t show it or even think it’s there. I hope you all get relationships like I had with these individuals. But by the time I was 21, all of these grandparents were gone, and shortly after my 23^rd birthday, I lost my mother as well.

Thankfully I still had my dad. He and I tend to butt heads from time to time, but I have nothing but the utmost respect for this man, and even though somedays I’d much rather spend on my couch watching movies, he always wanted us to be involved in our community and led by example. He got us off our butts and got us active in our community.

Because of this we began to spend more and more time with other individuals who were also active members of our community, a few of which have helped to fill the void of my missing grandparents and are people I am glad that I can say were my friends.

Ann Healy was our town historian, and also the first person my mom lived with when she moved to Red Lake Falls. I always knew Ann, but didn’t really get a chance to spend any time with her until after my mother passed away. My dad decided he wanted to make a memorial park in our city and dedicate it to my mom. He wanted it to be a place people could put living memorials for the people that they had lost so that in a way they could always be remembered. He, Stuart Altendorf, and a young man (I think he was only about 92 when they started) named Al Buse did almost all of the major cleanup work at the park with my brother Ryan and I helping out when we could as well. Every single day we worked on that park, Ann would be down there multiple times to go for her walk and check out the progress.

My brother and I got to spend a lot of time walking with her and hearing the stories of what used to be there and so much more Red Lake Falls history that we were never aware of.  Generally right in the middle of a really fascinating story this little yellow Easy-Go golf cart would pull up and Al would wave us in or jump out and just look at us, then look at the box on the back of his machine…then back at us. Right away we knew it was time to get back to work! Generally he had a stump he couldn’t remove on his own or he had some tool or god knows what in that rear compartment of the Easy-Go that needed to be fixed, and Ryan and I weren’t much but he figured we had to be good for something!

Those were some of my favorite times with my dad and Al and Ann. We lost Ann shortly after we completed our memorial gazebo and I still think about her every time I drive past there. The walking path will one day feature items from Red Lake Falls past with the hope of dedicating the trail that goes through there to Ann.

But Al kept on trekking.

Before the memorial park, we always had a good rapport with Al. He was always a man who believed in Red Lake Falls and in giving back to the community that he loved. He literally turned the city dumping grounds into one of the most beautiful parks in our entire area (which was named after him a few years ago) and could be found weed whacking random areas around town on any given day. If you were ever to stop and chat with him, you would have found that his car, or later is golf cart, always contained some tools, and generally some hedge clippers. You would more than likely be put to work on something as well, but that was the best part. Most people may have seen it as helping Al out with something, but I think he hoped people saw it as them helping out their community. He was never in it for himself.

My blood related Grandpa used to spend every Sunday with us, a lot of those days at the tubing and camping business we run, Voyageur’s View. You could almost guarantee to find him sitting in our store chatting with my mom or some of our employees…but more times than not, with some pretty girl. When asked about it, he would always just smile and tell us; “I’m not dead yet!”

That’s what they call a precursor in this writing game…

Flash forward a few years, The Buse grandchildren (son and daughters of Todd and Julie) have all worked with us and it is now Abby’s turn to have to spend time with the Brumwell clan. Al had always spent a lot of time coming down to check out how the business was going and to just people watch as well, but while Abby was working for us we hated seeing Al just hang out in his car so we set up a chair in our tube rental building so we would have him right there in the action and we could chat with him and he could make sure Abby wasn’t slacking off. Pretty much every weekend you could count on Al being right in the thick of things and every chance we got, we were there hanging out, yelling at him so he could hear us, and listening to some of the greatest history tails of our little city.

One day Al came pulling up on his golf cart, (this was a few years after Abby moved on to bigger and better things-still one of our all-time favorites) I saw him sitting over there watching the buses go by and anytime I saw him pull up I tried to spend a little time chatting with him, so I went over and we talked for a bit, me shouting because of his hearing impairment caused my millions of rounds of ammo shot, and him talking a little louder than most people do, once again because of the hearing impairment. So we yell back and forth at each other for a while and then this very pretty girl walks by on her way to her campsite. Al gets quiet for a second, and when the girl is about ten feet in front of us he looks over at me and yells, “That one’s got a nice shape on her!” I laugh, the girl laughed and Al and I both went home without her number.

The sly dog had us all convinced that he was there just to support our business and watch his grandkids work…turns out he was just another dirty old man in the same fashion as my other grandpa Al!

There are quite literally thousands upon thousands of stories about this great man, and I know that I’m not the only person in this community, or persons who have known him at any point who truly loved the man. The stories that people have posted on Facebook and other areas are just the tip of the iceberg. He was a man I was truly convinced would outlive me, and not just because of how incredibly out of shape I am. This was a guy who was out snow plowing his driveway and walkways a month ago at 101 years of age. He was an oddity in the fact that not only was he extremely active, he still had a sharp mind and a keen sense of humor.

A few other quick stories of Al:

His daughter Julie (who spent an unbelievable amount of time with Al) told me that she had brought him over to Grand Forks to trade in a gun not too long ago and was a little upset with the price they gave him. She asked him why and he stated that he figured if he could hang onto it for another ten years or so that it would be worth a lot more money, to which Julie asked; “But how old would YOU be Al?!” He replied with a smile, “Oh, pretty old.”

Finally, my dad loved Al. We all did, but I think that Al didn’t only fill a void for me as a grandparent, but also for my dad as a father figure and outright friend. As I stated, I only knew one of my blood grandparents, which was my mom’s dad. My dad’s dad passed away before his time and left a hole in the lives of my parents. Al was a guy who not only resembled my mom’s dad but also my dad’s. He was a hard worker who my mom would tell me stories of with tears in her eyes because of how much he meant to her, and my dad…being a man’s man would talk about all the projects they did together, even driving us around to look at the buildings they had built that were still standing.

In Al, my dad found a person I believe reminded him of his own father. A man he could work with in all the crazy volunteer endeavors that the two of them seemed to always be taking on. Be it the Community Enhancement Club, the memorial park, building a picnic shelter at the swimming pool (which they brought to Red Lake Falls with a group of dedicated individuals), they were always doing something together. They both loved our community and were and are the type of people who if they want something done…they did it. There wasn’t a day that my dad stopped to talk to Al that he didn’t leave with a project. In fact, the day before Al fell, he was busy working on finding a new hasp for one of his gun cases, and loved every second that he got to help the man.

The day I got the news that Al had passed, I called my dad right away. He was down at Sportsman’s Park, Al’s Park. He thought that it was messy and knew Al wouldn’t be happy with the condition, so he was picking it up…he was spending a little more time with Al.

Later I spoke with him again and he said that his one regret was that he had really wanted to get Al on the Today Show’s Smucker’s segment where they honor people who have lived 100+ years. Something that Al, I’m sure, could have cared less about but my dad just wanted to honor his friend. But last summer we got to do something even better, we got him featured in the Washington Post thanks to future Red Lake County resident Christopher Ingraham. As Chris was busy trying to interview Al, he kind of showed exactly how important he felt recognition was…when asked what the secret to living to 100 was, Al just stated that that’s the wrong question, you don’t want to live to be past 80 or so…then he helped himself to Chris’ dinner.

When Chris and his wife Brianna decided to move to Red Lake Falls, one of the biggest reasons was that my dad took them on a tour of our city which included about a half hour stop to chat with Al. I think Brianna saw in that short visit why Chris felt so strongly about moving to our little community. The man was everything you hope to find in a small town, and he tried to be that shining example to our whole community.

Al’s family has asked that in lieu of flowers, donation be made to Meals on Wheels, a program that delivers meals to the elderly and a service that Al used and one that helped to expose scores of kids to this great man. I would go one step further, I would think the thing that would make Grandpa Al the happiest is that if the people that cared so much for him, continued his legacy. This community was important to him, and I can’t think of a better tribute than to keep up with his work. I would go as far as to suggest a community event where we celebrate Al by having a spring cleaning of the community. We gather together and fix the things that need fixing, paint the things that need painting, and weed whack those darn weeds! There are few people who cared for this community as much as Al, but it sure would mean a lot to him if he knew he passed that on to the generations that follow him.

If you no longer live in Red Lake Falls, be a bigger part of your community in his honor. Al was a serviceman, not just to our community, but to our country. Help keep Al’s spirit going by doing as he would do.

That Man is a Success

Who has lived well, laughed often and loved much;

Who has gained the respect of intelligent men and the love of children;

Who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;

Who leaves the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem or a rescued soul;

Who never lacked appreciation of earth’s beauty or failed to express it;

Who looked for the best in others and gave the best he had.

We’re going to miss you Grandpa Al.

The Long Road back to the Middle

From the desk and mind of M.P. Braget

The following is partially true, two-thirds fictitious, a bit sarcastic, but mostly honest and in places brutally so. Our memories are a bit like that, though lacking a bit in honesty I wager. Larry Woiwode wrote a book called What I Think I Did and in it he discusses the reconstruction of memory. Memories, after all, aren't real, they don't exist in the here and now. That book is also about the North Dakota winter of 1996 which some may remember gave us the flood of '97, both of which were quite brutal. You should read it, it's good. But don't take my word for it. "Take a look/in a book.."

I've been walking in circles which is to say I've been busy, busy, busy living. But I've also been literally walking in circles, breathing in the musty cool air that only a concrete structure can flavor, listing to the click-clack echo of my hard sole boots bounce rhythmically through the automobile hotel, marching me along as I hold a book, of some color or another, up to my nose. This is my lunch hour, or 40 minutes of it, walking in circles reading a book for the physical and mental exercise. Walking and reading. I'm no doctor, so I won't tell you what Americans need but more walking and more reading surely couldn't hurt. I'm not here to tell you that though, I'm just setting the scene.

In this parking structure where I spend my lunch hour, book held to my nose, relying on my peripheral vision to guide me around the metal guests, my hearing to warn me of the occasional arriving/departing metal-soul, I occasionally stop reading long enough to notice the particular breed of the automobiles. This is my temporary escape from the office-rat cubes of corporate America. The cubes where all our dreams comes true.

I'm walking, click-clack, click-clack, and noticing on down the line: Toyota Prius, Lexus, BMW, Prius, Mercedes, non-Prius Toyota, Prius, Nissan Wannabe Prius, Lexus, BMW, Mercedes, Mazda, Prius, Prius, Prius. Californians, myself excluded, don't buy American Metal Souls. They either guzzle too much gas, or just do so unreliably. Either way, "made in America" is too far below the average, and certainly the above-average Californian-American. Thirty-five Million people live in California with 30 Million registered vehicles which have better health care and bathe more often than I do, drought be damned. Life is irony. Irony is God's sense of humor alive and well.

Because aliens will first visit North America and North America has just as many cars as people, and cars can be seen more from space than people, the first alien contacts will attempt communication with a Prius, I'm certain of it. I'm also certain they'll get all the information they came for from the Prius, forgoing the whole "take me to your leader" bit. We don't really have any left, and if we did, Gravitas is dead anyway. One of the old gods discarded like so many others.

Click-clack. I walk in laps, book to my face, surrounded by metal-persons, all with their backs turned to me unless their organic master parks knowing the satisfaction of pulling out of a parking space driving forward. An indifferent audience to an indifferent event, in an indifferent place, of indistinguishable time.

But, maybe not so indifferent to the actor.
I've read, click-clack, in circles:
The Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson
The Wisdom of Insecurity - Alan Watts
Cat's Cradle - Kurt Vonnegut
Player Piano - Kurt Vonnegut

Vonnegut fans might notice I'm stealing from him here. So it goes.

Click-clack.

Misty cool, walk the circle, read the book, I reflect on America via it's cultural masterpiece: the automobile. The new gods holding concrete court. They've judged me indifferent but what is the point? A question, you, my reader, might be asking. I think I have one but an attempt to make it obvious will kill it. So I can't. I can't because I drank heavily from the Alan Watts kool-aid:

"Only words and conventions can isolate us from the entirely undefinable something which is everything" (The Wisdom of Insecurity, page 49).

You should read this book, experience it. It's teaching me to let go, to be in the now, to stop regretting the past and fearing the future. To Live. Tom Petty said the waiting is the hardest part, I say it's letting go. But I don't have the time, space, or desire to flesh this out more. Watts is part the point.

Click-clack.

Walk the circle, listen the world inside the concrete metal-soul hotel, listen to life outside it, feel the ground, the slight breeze breaking in easily for metal souls require no windows and little for walls.

Click-clack. Here. Now.

What is the meaning?

Some way our's is a short life, or a long road. Shakespeare lamented it's meaningless: all that sound and fury. Again from Watts: "...for they are but men huddling together and shouting to give themselves courage in the dark" (The Wisdom of Insecurity, page 19).

Click-clack.

Life is a long, or short, road back to the middle. Watts' point, or really the jumping off point, is that we fear meaningless so we ascribe meaning to it all which ultimately makes us unhappy by constantly being worried about being happy. Storing up stuff  now to make sure our future is good.

Click-clack.

From Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle, his religious prophet, Bokonon, describes the creation:

"In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in His cosmic loneliness. And God said, 'let Us make living creatures out of mud, so the mud can see what We have done.' And God created every living creature that now moveth, and one was man. Mud as mad alone could speak. God leaned close as mud as man sat up, looked around, and spoke. Man blinked, 'what is the purpose of all this?' he asked politely.
'Everything must have a purpose?' asked God.
'Certainly,' said man.
'Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this,' said God. And He went away."

Some of you might not like this much. Maybe there isn't much to like about it. Watts, I imagine, would say that's his point but without actually saying so. Vonnegut, I imagine, would look upon us with a wry smile and a twinkle in his eye. The only man I can imagine who would be laughing in the face of the apocalypse.

But here I am.

Click-clack.

Walking in circles.

Here you are.

Click-clack.

Reading this in circles.

What is the meaning? I can't say. But hey, fuck it, at least we're getting our exercise.

Basketball and Resiliency...

As I continue to grow older I seem to spend less and less time learning my life lessons at the bars and more just in my everyday life.

The thing about getting older is that things we were once able to accomplish without much effort now seem like they take a lot out of us, or at least can’t be accomplished with as much ease as they once did. One of the largest areas where this seems to come into play is with exercise and keeping in shape. Things we did when we were in our teens, or even early twenties, such as eat or drink ridiculous amounts and have no trouble keeping the pounds off, or even getting the motivation to do some exercise afterwards.

#4 Dusty Neibauer...still has it.

While I was attending college at MSU-Moorhead, a group of friends and me would spend at least four hours every night at Nemzek Hall playing basketball. Once we finished we would either go and get some homework done, or a lot of nights we would head over to my place, play some cards and spend most of the rest of the evening drinking and harassing my poor roommates (Two to Deuce), sorry guys! But the next day most of us (not always me) would get up and go to class, then hit the gym, and start the process all over again.

Not only were we able to put forth a good effort academically, but we also ended up being pretty good basketball players, putting forth a great showing in our pick-up games at Nemzek as well as winning several adult basketball tournaments.

In those days people were always trying to join our team or were worried anytime they saw that they were facing us in a tournament. We didn’t always have the same name, but they could pick us out by looking for the most ridiculous team name on the bracket (such as, That’s a lot of Potatoes), and when they faced us they brought their A-games. Once in all of our glory, we even beat a team comprised of most of the MSU-Moorhead college team. They always put together an intramural basketball team (cheap bastards) and in front of a surprisingly large makeshift crowd, we beat them when Dan Nyberg knocked down a three from about six feet behind the line…a story I will no doubt tell my (or at least someone’s) grandchildren someday, and embellish the hell out of the whole ordeal.

But my life lesson today doesn’t center on how good we were , or how pitiful it is that at 32 I’m already talking about the glory days, no, today’s lesson is centered upon resilience.

#13, Kurt Philion showing off his ball skills.

Back while we were actually a force to be reckoned with people would ask us what we were up to that weekend and we would state that we were going to be playing in a basketball tournament. The standard reply generally went something along the lines of: “Well you boys have fun, and don’t get into too much trouble!”

Fast forward a few years.

We’re now around that 26 – 28 age range, and people ask us, what are you up to this weekend? To which we reply, we’re getting together with our college buddies and playing in a basketball tournament! The puzzled looks on their faces speak more than words can say…but they say them anyway…

     “Friend”: Are you coaching?

     Me: Nope, we’re playing! It’s an adult basketball tournament!

     “Friend”: Aren’t you guys a little old for that stuff, don’t you think it’s time to give up the ghost?

     Me: Are you kidding?! I love basketball, and what better excuse to get together with the guys?!

     “Friend”: OK, well have fun I guess…

It should be noted that at this point we are also starting to lose members of the team, not necessarily because they want to be done playing, just that other things have started to take precedent in their lives, such as work, wives, and kids. We generally only play in about two to three tournaments a year, but the girls who used to join us for these adventures have now become mom’s and have become much more responsible, in many cases either forgetting the amount of fun they used to have, or remembering and worrying what kind of trouble their husband may still get into! Some of my greatest memories of these basketball tournaments are the amount of fun our whole group used to have together, not just the guys, but the girls that would one day become their wives and the mother of their children. I truly knew the brides when they used to rock n’ roll.

TJ Super taking it to the hole, while Jason, Ryan, Kyle, and Pat just watch.

So now we recruit new members or scrap together the guys we can in order to form a team. Some friends get the green light to partake in a weekend of basketball and debauchery, some don’t. We gather up a few younger guys to fill the gaps and still put forth a pretty respectable team. We’re not the feared force we once were, but we’re still having a good time playing the sport we love, getting some exercise and still finishing about the middle of the pack.

Notable changes include; forfeiting games because we can’t get out of bed, losing by 20+ points, having our ankles actually broken, and a noticeable decline in our popularity at the night clubs…

Fast forward to today, or at least this past weekend…

After trying for several years (7 or 8) we were finally able to put back together a good portion of our old team, as well as some guys we’ve been playing basketball with for a few years who are our same age. How do we accomplish this? One of our friends is having a birthday party for his two year old at a Holiday Inn in Fargo, which happens to be happening the same weekend as our basketball tournament! This means that not only will the husbands be allowed to come hang out and play some basketball, but the wives (and kids) will also be in attendance! But in these few years (we’re now 32-34 years old) a few other changes have occurred, starting with that same old conversation…

     Friend: What are you up to this weekend?

     Me: I’m going to play in an adult basketball tournament with my college buddies!

     Friend: Oh really, where’s that at?

     Me: Fargo.

     Friend: Good for you. I’m glad you’re still playing!

The last statement is said with some sadness and is also stated as almost a backward compliment. Just hearing the words come out of their mouth I can hear both that they are kind of sad that they aren’t able to do things like this anymore but they are also impressed that at my age I still can. Society has beat them down to the point where if someone is still doing things such playing in adult basketball tournaments at 32, they should be commended…but when did I get soooo old?

Granted it takes me far longer to heal from an injury now, and even just playing sparingly I usually end up sore the next day, but I find that if I continue to exercise I’m actually a lot better off now than I was a few years ago. I’m generally a lot healthier, drinking less and exercising more than I did in my late twenties. I’m no picture of health but when I do play basketball or go for a run, it really makes me feel pretty darn good. I need to do more of it and eat healthier now than I used to, but I also still play at open gyms where I play with guys in their 50’s who still play against kids who are 18…and they’re still very good.

The saddest part to me is that I’m now at a point where it’s a badge of honor that I’m still playing at all, whereas it seemed like only a few years ago we were at the top of the game.

So we put together this team, and in the build up to the tournament I kept thinking to myself, and telling anyone that would listen, that we should have a really good team for the first time in a long time. That it was actually one of the best teams I’ve put together in years…and then we proceeded to lose every game in our tournament.

Dan Nyberg getting ready to audition for the AND1 Mixed Tape tour.

It turns out that none of us are afforded the opportunity to play four hours of basketball everyday still and we’re playing against people who can. We’re craftier now that we’re older and can still put points up on the board, just not with as much consistency as we once did. We’re getting older, there’s no doubt about that…but I truly hope we all keep playing and getting together to act as if we are still as good as we once were.

Even if we can’t hang on the basketball court, the group was all back together (for the most part, except for the ones without babysitters) at the bars…and once or twice a year, we can still hang with the best of them there!

Basketball and sports in general, aren’t something reserved for the young. Recently our sports teams from my little town all ended their seasons and for some of them their high school careers. These are kids who I remember from being the little tag-alongs who would accompany their parents to our Sunday night open gym and we would let them shoot shots over us to make them feel special. These same kids are now making us all look like old men out there, but it’s safe to say that they have great parents who introduced them to an activity that they can do for a very long time. Sports are something that can bring us together, young and old alike and that’s certainly something we should all fight to try and hold onto.

Don’t expect this to be the last blog centered on basketball, it’s taught me many lessons in my life and I look forward to continuing to play and learn. For all of those high school seniors who are now moving on from their organized sports, as long as you love the sport and are passionate about playing, keep it up. Someday it’ll be your kids who learn to love the sport by watching their parents out there, and they’ll learn a ton of life lessons along the way. It’s a great way to teach them how to be passionate about something and how life can always be fun.