In the News

Dress Appropriately

/ Tim Severson / Leave a comment

German marked my first foreign-language class in sixth grade, and perhaps my first experience with social pressure.

Frau Wied assigned us the task of choosing our German names. This would become the name she would call us throughout the year during class. And, as it turned out, in the halls.

She handed out a xeroxed list of names separated into “ein Junge” and “Mädchen”. I scanned the list of names like an expectant mother 4,400 miles away in Berlin. Though, as a sixth grader on the first day of middle school, it’s hard to say whose stakes felt higher.

Many of the other kids in my class had gone to the elementary school with the advanced learning program. To this day, I am unclear of how my classmates wound up in the advanced program so early, as I had made my way into the advanced classes in sixth grade under suspicious circumstances.

A broken right wrist prevented me from filling in the Scantron bubbles on the IOWA Basic test we were required to take to measure our skills against the rest of the nation. Because of my injury, a teaching assistant sat with me to fill in the bubbles of the answers I selected. 

Was it pure intelligence that allowed me to score in the 98th percentile, or the teaching assistant’s terrible poker face when I attempted to pick the incorrect answer?

The world will never know.

Regardless, it landed me in a classroom, staring at a list of German names, trying to pick the “coolest” one because my friends already had their German names from their elementary school class.

Dieter, Günther, Helmut, Wolfgang, are you kidding me?! Stefan. Stefan! That’s my best friend’s name in New York. I looked at the chalkboard, and someone had taken the name. 

I chose Felix because I used to watch Felix the Cat. How inspired. 

Yet, it wasn’t as cool as the names my friends had. 

Their names fit them like a tailored suit. Meanwhile, I sat at my desk, tugging at my waistband and shifting in my seat, all too aware that ‘Felix’ fit me as poorly as the Eddie Bauer khakis my mom bought me for the new school year.

It was in this class that I, Felix, first learned of the Holocaust and the atrocities committed by the Nazis during World War Two. 

Adults forget what it was like to learn about these things. Remembering the facts is easier than remembering the emotion and confusion stirred inside as the details piled up in front of us like bodies in mass graves. Papers, stars, hiding, trains, abuse, starvation, and death. It’s so much to absorb, even as an adult.

We forget the bump of adrenaline when the emotion enters the room, when the teacher’s solemn mood hushes the class, and we understand that now is not the time for jackassery.

The lights go out, and the faces of twelve-year-olds glow in the black-and-white footage from five lifetimes ago playing on the oversized tube TV, rolled in on an old metal cart. Soldiers on a beach, a furious man with a mustache yelling at a podium, rubble, terrified faces, shaved heads, and so many dead bodies.

When the video ends and the lights turn back on, the teacher wipes a final tear from their cheek. 

What made it challenging is we had no frame of reference. These stories played like pure fiction or something that happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Which makes sense given we were also taught about the heroic American effort during World War Two. We learned how the bravest generation volunteered to cross the Atlantic to defeat those evil forces and hold them accountable for their actions.

And at the end of the day, when the bell rang, we went home and fell into a peaceful slumber because we live in America. The land of the free and home of the brave. Nothing like that will ever happen here.

Too bad the history curriculum didn’t focus more on the 1930s in Germany to find out how the fuck they ended up how they did. The beginning isn’t nearly as interesting as the end. The deliberate legal plotting of Gleichschaltung turned neighbors against each other through policy and social pressure. The average person didn’t realize they were a frog in a pot of water being slowly brought to a boil.

We are plagued by people who have given up their critical thinking skills.

We have become addicted to the confirmation bias found within our chosen echo chambers, unable to face the discomfort of breaking free for a moment because doing so would make falling asleep at night a little more challenging. 

Thinking of neighbors being pulled from their homes in the freezing cold isn’t conducive to the peaceful slumbers we’re used to getting in the United States of America.

In my state of Minnesota, thirty minutes from my home, a masked federal agent shot Renee Good in the face three times, in broad daylight, in front of witnesses, and filmed from more vantage points than even Oliver Stone could have conceived of. 

Yet, people refuse to watch it and instead regurgitate the opinions they see on TV. Somehow, ignoring the document they claim to hold above all, the Constitution.

On Friday, January 16th—my daughter’s birthday — we went out to dinner in Maple Grove, MN. 

We looked out the glass doors of our restaurant to the street as we waited for our table. We could see a restaurant and a bank across the street, along with some retail shops. A fresh coating of light snow blanketed the sidewalk. An unmarked SUV with blue and red lights flashing in the rear window sat parked in the street, unattended. I exchanged a worried glance with my wife.

We both started from a rational place. Probably just an unmarked police car or security investigating an alarm. It was 6:30 in suburbia for Christ’s sake. 

The faint sound of car horns out on the street, which has quickly become the signal of the government’s abuse of power in Minnesota, began. ICE was across the street, surrounding a restaurant to detain the “criminals” who were in the middle of their shift serving people like me. Families celebrating birthdays or anniversaries.

@thugginluv97

Ice raided the restaurant I work in. A troubling time we are in, and a reminder to share as much resources as we can and to defend each other. Cops was called and they did nothing! But protestors arrived and they helped these ppl get away. All we have is ourselves rn. #MN #ice #community

♬ original sound – C.U comedy

“Tim, your table is ready.”

I tried to focus on my family, on my daughter, and not on the possibility that the state was tearing someone away from their life and family, or masked men walking through her birthday dinner en route to the kitchen. Shame bubbled up inside me.

That’s the point, though, isn’t it? You don’t need to be terrified to be terrorized. It’s the chaos and uncertainty. They are counting on people to go along to get along.

I’ve had enough. This isn’t a difference of opinion on policy, Democrat versus Republican. This is right and wrong. How can people claim these ICE agents are “just doing their job” or “this would all be over if people would just comply”?

I can’t. As a son of a veteran of Vietnam and the grandson of a veteran and Purple Heart recipient in World War II, I learned this is the exact behavior they swore to protect the country from.

There are some who didn’t anticipate the call of tyranny and oppression coming from inside the house. 

I wrote an open letter to my eight-month-old son when Donald Trump was elected to his first term. I remember being nervous to share it with the world, but more so with my friends and family. It was clear to me a decade ago who he is, but did I want to risk relationships in the name of politics?

This is how Gleichschaltung works. They don’t need me to be on board; they just need me to be quiet.

Maybe you voted for the people who are ignoring our Constitution, and that’s okay.

Now, however, we must all wake up and say, “No,” because if we accept this unconstitutional abuse of power, who will be targeted next?

We are seeing the good people of Minnesota on the streets of Minneapolis saying, “No.” We are seeing people who recognize the pot of water as the trap it is.

Wake up. Pay attention. Watch the videos and ask yourself: Do these people look like dangerous criminals?

As the country prepares for a historic cold front of ice and snow, it is the hand of tyranny grasping for control. 

Dress appropriately, Minnesotans will.

The Lonesome Kicker

/ Tim Severson / Leave a comment

Last night, as I watched the Minnesota Timberwolves clinch victory and advance to the Western Conference Finals, I was reminded of the breathtaking essence of sports. It was a moment of pure poetry, exactly two decades since the Timberwolves last won the seventh game of a playoff series. Games like these remind us why we love sports—the drama, the passion, the sheer unpredictability.

Critics often argue that professional athletes are overpaid and lazy. But in the final game of a playoff series, none of that matters. Contracts and bonuses fade into the background. Game seven is when these athletes show us why they’re worth every penny. Their talent, skill, and teamwork are on full display, and it’s impossible not to be in awe.

Watching those players on the court last night, I was struck by the realization that they were living their dream—playing in a game seven of the NBA playoffs. It’s a dream shared by countless kids who’ve spent hours shooting hoops in their driveways or local parks. I couldn’t help but wonder: What does it feel like to step onto that floor? How do they handle the deafening roar of the arena? What must their families be feeling as they watch?

As I watched the second half with my wife, Jenni—a rare occurrence—I wasn’t thinking about the players’ political beliefs. The focus was on the game, the thrill of the competition.

This brings me to Harrison Butker. The attention this small-minded, football-kicking man is receiving is infuriating, but not for the reasons you might think. I disagree with Mr. Butker. His face alone suggests he’s a misogynistic, homophobic, antisemitic, small-minded individual. But despite my disdain, he has the right to hold and share his beliefs. It would be hypocritical to criticize his freedom of speech while exercising my own.

Athletes and celebrities often believe they are more important than they are, a belief we perpetuate by listening to their opinions on matters outside their expertise. A week ago, most people wouldn’t have known who Harrison Butker was. Now, he’s likely getting calls from political groups because he’s proven to be polarizing and divisive.

Before letting outrage consume us, we should ask ourselves: Do we really care what a football player with the handle @buttkicker7 thinks about anything? We shouldn’t.

When I watched Top Gun: Maverick, I did not think about how Tom Cruise believes he is an immortal alien being with amnesia trapped on Earth (See: Scientology). I sat down excited to see a fictional character named Maverick fly a make-believe plane. 

Similarly, I wouldn’t ask the Timberwolves for gardening tips or look to an NFL kicker for advice on anything other than kicking.

We must stop expecting these people to be everything we want them to be. You are allowed to be a fan of someone’s professional skill while disagreeing with them on big topics and small, like what the best candy bar is. Does Harry Butker look like he would claim Mounds as the best candy bar? Absolutely. Is that grounds to have him fired? Of course not, but it’s close.

Living in this country means respecting others’ beliefs, regardless of how backward they are. It is the other side of that coin which has allowed the little progress to be made for people in marginalized communities to date.

Harrison Butker’s commencement speech reads like I asked ChatGPT to sum up everything that was taught to me on Wednesday nights in confirmation class as a teenage Catholic. He was given a platform to say what he said because, unfortunately, he is not alone in how he thinks. An organization with far more power and influence has taught people these things for centuries, The Roman Catholic Church. 

An online petition to remove Butker from the team garnered over 220,000 signatures, demanding accountability from sports figures who should promote respect for all. 

The petition states, “We demand accountability from our sports figures who should be role models promoting respect for all people regardless of their race, gender identity or sexual orientation. We call upon the Kansas City Chiefs management to dismiss Harrison Butker immediately for his inappropriate conduct.”

Roughly 1.6% of NCAA football players are eligible to be drafted annually. .016% of the players in that pool will be drafted. To beat long odds like those, the players are forced to live, eat, and sleep football because there isn’t time for anything else. So, are we asking that the NFL only draft players with progressive, liberal ideals? 

As a Liberal, that sounds great. As a football fan, that is the worst idea ever. Southern Conservatives and football go together like a full bottle of hair gel and Harrison Butker’s hair. 

Change doesn’t come from bullying anyone into agreeing with you. 

I love my brother-in-law dearly. We have so much in common that we once bought the same car within a week of each other without having discussed it. He is a person I trust and respect more than most people, and that jerk is a Republican (far more handsome than Harrison Butker). 

Not once have I attempted to change his mind. I have explained my views on topics, and he has done the same; I think we have helped each other expand our understanding of different political and social issues. However, when we step into the voting booth, we know what boxes we’re checking the majority of the time. 

Change happens at the dinner table. Shouting into social media echo chambers to all your friends and celebrities you follow because they agree with you on all fronts changes nothing. 

Harrison Butker deserves any and all criticism regarding his remarks. He does not deserve to lose his livelihood.

While it may feel good to get the gratification of seeing results from action, this result will not move the needle in a meaningful way. Odds are, it will move the needle in the opposite direction as there are Catholic parishioners reminding themselves to bring a little extra cash to put in the basket when it makes the way down their pew this Sunday at Mass. 

We should be sharing stories and truths. Will Harrison change his views? Probably not.

However, there are thousands of people who are on the fence. Honest stories about why the remarks made in Butker’s commencement speech are hurtful, insensitive, and/or flat out wrong will tip them in the right (left?) way. Maybe after tipping, that parent will have a child. Maybe they will give that child a name that won’t lead to getting made fun of in school. Maybe that child will grow up to be a professional athlete, give a commencement speech at a real institution of higher learning (University of Minnesota, for instance). And maybe, just maybe, that speech will be written to include ALL who hear it. 

In the meantime, we can enjoy every missed extra point and field goal, like the one he hit off the upright in Super Bowl LVII. And, who knows, maybe Taylor’s boyfriend decides to have a conversation with him in the privacy of the locker room and changes his mind. 

This is my opinion. As the father of a five-year-old daughter, I have a vested interest in ensuring she doesn’t grow up in the future Harrison Butker or those who support him envision. I will advocate and do what I can to further progress, but I will not do so by infringing on another person’s rights. It’s a waste of time to work to get a kicker cut from a team because, well, they usually take care of that themselves. 

Let’s leave the athletes to play their chosen sport and marvel at the talent and dedication it took to get them there. Let’s stop expecting them to be role models because, if you look around professional sports, those are few and far between. 

Cheers. 

The Danger of Trying to Engineer Your Child’s Identity: A Personal Reflection

/ Tim Severson / Leave a comment

In my sophomore year of college, I took a Human Sexuality course at the University of Minnesota. The credits counted toward my major in Psychology, and learning about sexuality seemed like a pleasant way for me to spend my Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. 

The course was most of what you’d expect. Freud, Kinsey, stereotypes in the world today (2005), etc. Then came the day that we discussed sexual orientation and gender identity. 

I confess that, at the time, my understanding of gender identity was inadequate and small-minded. Growing up in rural Minnesota limited my exposure to people outside of straight, cisgender, conservative-leaning people. 

The professor had split that day’s class into two sections. The first half was a lecture, and the second half split the class into small groups with discussion items. 

When the professor reached the point in their lecture regarding the difference between sexuality and gender identity, the hand of a cisgender male shot up. If you’re picturing a stereotypical early 2000s frat boy, you’re on the right page. 

“Why would a guy change to a girl if he’s into girls? That doesn’t make sense,” he said when the professor took his question. 

Before the professor could answer, another hand shot up. There was another student in the class that was transgender. She was in the process of transitioning to a female. She had recently begun receiving hormone therapy. 

The professor allowed her to respond to the question—a professional move.

I cannot remember precisely what she said, so I’ll paraphrase. She explained how she had been attracted to females as far back as she can remember. She also explained how as far back as she can remember, she felt as though she was trapped inside a body that she didn’t belong in. 

Her explanation was far more in-depth, and I remember feeling like a moron when she finished. I felt this way because she spoke for a few minutes in a calm, concise manner. She was thoughtful and understanding of the lack of understanding the vast majority of the class had. I think about her often and admire how she knew exactly who she was at twenty, while I am still trying to figure that out as a thirty-eight-year-old father.

Up to that point, my general idea was that I didn’t have an opinion about transgender people. I didn’t understand identifying as another gender and figured I never would. However, it didn’t bother me, so I kept to myself.

I find this matter of thinking to be that of a coward. It’s why I felt the need to write this. 

As fate would have it, that same student was in my small group for the discussion. I learned more in the second half of that single class than any other class I took in college. I walked out feeling like I had grown as a person. It felt fantastic.

Do you know what I didn’t do? 

I didn’t walk out questioning my gender. I didn’t walk out questioning my sexuality. I wasn’t confused about who I was all of a sudden. 

The same way that growing up in Brainerd, MN, didn’t turn me into a hunting, fishing, country music-loving conservative. 

Those things were never interesting because that’s not who I am. I don’t fault the people I grew up with that enjoy those things. I don’t think they need to be changed. They are/were my friends. People I spent a lot of time with, and I am a better person for it. I’m not confident they view me in that light these days, which is fine. 

Despite what people want you to believe, nature almost always wins in the battle of nature vs. nurture. 

I came across a video of Dr. Russel A. Barkley speaking about ADHD, and I believe this quote to be one of the most poignant views on parenting that I have come across.

“You are a shepherd, not an engineer. You do not get to design your child. Most of the things that will affect your child and help him turn into the person he will be are out of your control, so stop trying to control them, for you will only fail.”

Dr. Russell A. Barkley – ADHD-30 Essential Ideas everyone needs to know

For years, politicians have used things to rile up their base—abortion, same-sex marriage, vaccines, etc. I’d guess that privately, some politicians do not believe in the agenda they are pushing. Instead, they think that it will earn them votes. They are always prepared with the next hot-button issue that will fire up their constituents. 

All they need is an opportunity.

This is where Dr. Barkley’s quote is pertinent. We are in the middle of a parenting generation convinced that they are the engineers of their children.

These parents believe they are the way they are because of something their parents did or didn’t do. This leads them to think outside factors can determine who their kids will become at a base level. Music, books, video games, movies, and drag shows will change nothing regarding their child’s sexuality or gender identity. 

Preparedness met opportunity as it often does, resulting in a mass of ignorant and fearful parents who think these outside forces will somehow burrow into their children’s genetics and start changing things. The result is dangerous legislation that will harm people who need help, understanding, and compassion. 

You couldn’t affect your child’s sexuality or gender identity any more than you could make them the first chair cellist for the New York Philharmonic.

If you look inward, you’ll realize that no one can change your gender identity. If you trace it back on the timeline of your life, you’ll realize that no one could have changed it in your twenties, teens, or prior. Now imagine that people forced you to be something other than the wonderful person you have always been. Imagine the torture of going to middle school and being forced to dress and behave as something you are not at the most self-conscious time of your life. Those days are hard enough, even when you’re allowed to express yourself freely.

Here’s a thought experiment: If you’re best friend came out to you as transgender, how would you react? What would you say to them? Would it change the future of your relationship?

If that would be the end of your relationship, you are the problem.

It’s okay to be confused or fearful of something we don’t understand. 

What is not okay is trying to exterminate the things we don’t understand simply because we do not understand them. 

Those who refer to Disney World as the happiest place on Earth have yet to go to a drag show. 

Try it. Be a brave American, google Drag Brunch, pick a day, and go. Worst case? You’ll have breakfast. In the best case, you’ll have breakfast, cocktails, and a fantastic time and leave more open-minded than when you walked in. Then maybe you’ll start to educate yourself, find out that there is nothing to be scared of, and you’ll be happier without the unnecessary anger inside you.

Oh, the humanity!

Or, you can live and let live. You can buy more guns and pretend you’re John Wick ignoring the fact that one of the more dangerous things we do today is drop our kids off at school while the rest of us drink mimosas at a drag brunch having a great time. 

Be a shepherd. Provide a safe place for the flock. It feels much better to love and tend to others than to hate and neglect them.

Cheers.

The First Step

/ Tim Severson / Leave a comment

Odds are, if you’re reading this, than this post probably isn’t essential reading for you.

Great opening line, right?

I know my audience, so I am just making an educated guess. However, many of the people that are inclined to read the things I write here know people that could use this and if this reaches just one of those people, it will be worth it.

Alright, there we go. Everyone else is gone. It’s just you and me now. You decided you’d stick around to read whatever crazy radical left point-of-view because we are all kind of addicted to the stuff that makes us mad on the internet.

I’m glad you’re here. Let’s rip off the band-aid.

You have privilege. You were born with it. I know, I know, it stings… breathe, it will get better.

Very few know more privilege than I do. I’m a white, upper-middle class, college educated (paid for by my father… who is a doctor), male in the United States of America.

And since you’re here the odds are extremely high that you have checked some of those same boxes.

Wait! Wait! Wait!

Don’t go.

Having this mirror held up to your face is uncomfortable, I know it is for me. It makes you feel like you should have done more. I know that I do, daily. In no way am I saying that you didn’t struggle at some point or at many points throughout.

I do not doubt that you have overcome obstacles and hardships in your life. I don’t doubt that you have had disadvantages. I don’t doubt that you could easily prove that my life has been vastly easier than yours.

Have a seat with me. Let’s play some cards.

If it were a game of Texas Hold Em, I’d have pocket kings, suited and you’d have jacks, also suited. I’ve definitely got the upper hand, but you could be crafty and beat me. Hell, you wouldn’t even need to be crafty, just a slight bit of luck and you are taking me down.

And if everybody else at the table were white, they’d all be dealt solid hands and we’d all have a good time beating each other here or there and watch the money flow around the table.

Now, imagine that at the empty seat a black person sits down. All night, they are going to be dealt 2-7 off suit. They can still win, but it is going to be a long, difficult grind for them to get there. Unfortunately, the odds tell us, they are going to lose and after a long night of getting terrible cards they will be furious. They are going to yell and point out that the deck was stacked in our favor.

They might even get so mad that they flip the entire table over. Breaking the table, scattering our chips on the floor, mixing them up so that you and I lose some of the money we had won, fairly, by playing the same game at the same table.

This is where we are now in our country.

We don’t get to be mad because our table is broken, the cards are scattered, and we lost a bit of money.

We were playing the same game, yes, but we didn’t choose our table. We were placed here, just like they were.

Our job right now is to talk to the dealer. Tell the security guard to stop roughing the other guy up. Talk to the pit boss. Talk to the manager. Scream up at the owner’s penthouse, and demand to know what they are going to do to make sure this doesn’t happen again.

This is how we move forward as a country. We need to call everybody that we come across on their bullshit.

Nothing is going to change quickly. It is going to take a long time to deconstruct something that has been built over centuries.

Right now we are at a fork in the road. One direction is the same way we have always gone, it’s paved, well lit, and safe (for us). But, maybe if the things I have written make any kind of sense, you have already taken a step toward the other path by simply acknowledging your privilege.

As you look up from your shoes, the new path looks dark and overgrown.

The good news is, you won’t be alone. We can all do it together.

We are probably going to zig-zag all over the place trying to get through the thorny branches, but together we will get through. And when our children encounter this same fork in the road the path will be clear and they’ll have a chance to pave it.

2020 is clearly going to be a year that history books will have to reserve chapters for, let’s all take the path to be on the right side of that history.

Cheers.