About Me - Mr. Bergstrom

Yeah, I know, English and Writing are boring.

You have arrived at one of the more boring pages on this website. You might do better to head over to the science section and watch the video of the snoring skunk which has been adopted by a wolverine, but who likes to hide in the bear den just down the hill from the bee hives that are owned by Jed Murphy. You know Jed. He's the guy that posted that video on YouTube of himself kissing his pet deer. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I mean, well, I suppose most folks would find something wrong with that. After all, isn't keeping a wild animal as a pet generally considered to be a bad idea?

Then there's the kissing.

But never mind that. That's not what this page is supposed to be about. It's supposed to be about me. Which, as I suggested earlier, is a truly boring subject. I mean, there's nothing interesting about me. I'm just an old fuddy-duddy who spends most of his time either working on building projects, eating, searching out ways to survive the common core disaster, watching NCIS and Irish dramadies like "Ballykissangel" and British dramas like "Downton Abbey," and fills out my time mowing, studying theological topics, going to church on Sunday mornings and sometimes on other days. Really, it's all pretty boring.

Life is often that way. But my life, well, just how boring can a life get?

Like when I was a teenager. To make my spending money back in my high school days, I baled hay, picked strawberries, sold worms. Really, I sold worms. Got paid a whole quarter for each bale of hay I loaded. I thought it was a great job. Even when I got a hernia from it. Talk about boring?

Still, I was happy. At least I was until I thought my life went to a very hot place in a handbasket. You know what I mean.

You see, there I was enjoying life on a beautiful little farmstead in northern Wisconsin, and I had fallen in "love" with Dawn, the principal's daughter. That's right, the principal's daughter. The principal of my school. A school I actually enjoyed attending, where I was challenged, where I could take classes like World War IWorld War II, and Elizabethan Literature, and where I was in the chess club (not that I could play very well).

So, happy with my educational prospects, thrilled by the fact that I regularly rode my bike up the highway about a mile from the house to a little slough and easily caught my limit of brown trout, I reached a level of personal satisfaction I had never known before when I found the courage to ask a lovely young lady to "go steady with me" and she said yes.

I bought her a promise ring. A cheap thing. She liked it. Or at least she said she did. Not much of a ring. But it did mean something, to me at least, and hopefully to her. It did lead to her holding my hand and cuddling up close to me, and then, you know, that other thing, that beautiful, sweet, dreamt-about thing.

I couldn't believe it.

It was thrilling, and it was terrifying.

After all, what would her father think? How miserable could he make my life when he found out about it. Somebody would tell. Nobody kept their mouth shut around there. I imagined him calling me down to the office over the squawking public address system. And what would I do if he did call me in? Maybe I'd just go home. Walk the two-and-a-half miles. Stop at the Ben Franklin first and get some strawberry licorice and a Snickers bar and maybe a nickle package of Sprees. They weren't putting Sprees in rolls yet.

But so what? What was the big deal? I really didn't care. What could he do to me? After all, my life by then was already falling apart. So I'd just admit it. I'd tell him the truth. Yes sir, I did dance with your daughter. Yes sir, I did get her home a little late after the dance, I'm sorry. Okay. Yes sir, I did do that, but she wanted me to, and, and, well I wanted to, I did, so I'm sorry, I guess I should be sorry for what I did, for kissing your daughter.

Yes, I'm sorry.

Then he'd bring it up.

Won't I be moving soon? Yes, pretty soon. To Florida. Why Florida? I don't know. I think my parents hate me. No, I do, I really do.

I guess that is where Disney World just opened. I did hear that, that you have to buy a ticket for each ride, something called an E-ticket to get on the best rides. No sir, I'm not looking forward to moving there. Excuse me, but, could Dawn and I go for a walk, oh just over to the IGA, probably Ben Franklin's, maybe get a nickle bottle of soda over at the snowmobile shop?

Thank you, sir.

Like I said, boring.

What could be less interesting than some kid forced to move from a home he thought was paradise to a very hot place he liked to call a name that rhymes with bell, a kid who hated the next school he ended up in, a kid who lost the girl?

I refuse to write anymore about something so boring. Not about the surveying, the reporting, the editing, the accident where I flipped the car end-over-end and then side over side for about 500 feet and almost into a swollen creek. When I wasn't wearing a seatbelt and said "I'm dead," just before the initial impact. And all because of a girl and a dog. 

Nope, that would be boring, and anyway, that was all like forty years ago, before I made my way to Oklahoma, a place where yes it does get awfully hot in the summer, but I wouldn’t want to leave for anything, where I get to tell you my boring stories, like the one with the wild boar and the pole and the barbed wire fence and the stream. Do you have any idea how dangerous those boars can be?

But why should I write about any of that?

After all, when are you going to give me something interesting to read?

Maybe I don't like being bored either.

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