Summer 1989

This story originally appeared in the May 2021 issue of The Red Cent and is reprinted with permission.

Summer is upon us, and my five-year-old has announced that he will soon be a master of his bicycle.  Learning to ride a bike is a bit of a challenge when you live in the country because your only surface options are gravel or grass.  As his parents, it is our job to provide a “walking uphill both ways in a snowstorm”-type comparison to struggles such as these, and so my husband and I have counteracted all of his complaints of difficulty with our own tales of bike-riding woe – my husband was too busy farming to ever have time to ride a bike (none of that is true), and I managed against all odds to get myself up on two wheels on the rough-and-tumble streets of Grand Forks.

Good Sport

This is the origin story of the Central/Red River hockey rivalry, as told by a family of Central grads (so 100% irrefutably accurate).

It originally appeared in the February 2021 issue of The Red Cent and is reprinted with permission. Read on.

Hockey Mom, Part 1 | by Amanda Kosior

Born and raised in North Dakota, I grew up surrounded by people with hockey coursing through their veins. I, however, had a much more casual relationship with not just hockey, but all sports in general – less rooted in my heart and soul, but more topical, like wearing a hat.

One for my hydro homies / By Amanda

From sun up to about the time when the streetlights came on, my little sister and I spent every moment of our childhood summers outdoors. We’d ride bikes. We’d play at the park. We’d stake out a tiny plot of dirt to plant carrot seeds, which we’d pull up and eat long before they were ready. And when we were thirsty, we’d take a long drink of the crispy-cold water from the garden hose.

That comprises 100% of my memory of drinking water growing up.

Silverman’s / by Amanda

One-hundred-ish years ago, my great-grandfather rolled his peddler’s cart into Grand Forks, North Dakota, decided he didn’t want to pay the tax to continue on into Minnesota, and opened the door to our family’s men’s clothing store, Silverman’s. Here are a few of my many, many, many memories of what it was like growing up surrounded by suits and hangars.

Enough / by Amanda

I don’t know about all of you, but lately it feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day. I hope this poem is a reminder to you that every minute you are being you is just right.

I will build a house. / by Amanda

I wrote this poem in 2018 after a particularly polarizing year of politics, social media fights, and all-around angry sentiments from even the nicest people I know.  Now feels like a good time to share it with you, all kind readers.

Christmastime for the Jews, by Amanda

I am Jewish.

“Oh, are there a lot of Jews in North Dakota?” You may wonder. Let’s put it this way: we could throw a party for all of us at my synagogue and still have room for everyone to bring a friend.

I really like being Jewish in North Dakota, in part because I’ve always found non-Jewish North Dakotans to be interested in and enthusiastic about my religion.

Read more.