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September 10, 2025
Paul Petersen Ponders
By Paul Petersen
The Bandera Prophet
Greetings, Bandera Prophet readers. My name is Paul Petersen, and this is my column.
Before I start, a few questions you might have.
Petersen sounds Scandinavian. Are you Swedish?
Not quite. My great-grandfather was an ethnic Dane who immigrated here with his family when he was around seven in the latter 19th century. He and his family had lived in what was southern Denmark but became northern Prussia after a war over territory.
Why didn’t they just relocate from Prussia to Denmark?
Well, since they and everybody who knew them are now pushing up daisies, I don’t have an answer for that question—especially since we didn’t learn about them until a few years ago.
Do you speak Danish?
No. To me it sounds like a tough language. The meter reminds me of Dutch, and the devil-may-care attitude towards pronunciation reminds me of French.
The Danes love licorice. Do you?
No. But, considering I’m only about 12.5 percent Danish, that’s probably why.
Have you ever met Danish actors Sven-Ole Thorsen or Brigitte Nielsen?
Nope and nope.
Do you like the band Abba?
They’re Swedish, not Danish, but to answer your question, yes. I read once of a Swedish student at Texas A&M who made the football team, and I imagine he pleaded with the coaches, “Take a chance on me!”
Besides writing, what else do you like to do?
I love to play chess, geocache, tell corny Dad jokes, and podcast when I have time.
Are you from Texas?
Alas, no. My father worked in the energy business, so I’ve actually lived in several states. I consider myself an adopted Texan.
Have you ever been to Fredericksburg?
Yes. If you’re visiting and want to shop downtown, here’s my advice: bring your life savings.
That being said…
Sometimes I’ll drive to Bandera whenever there’s business, or if I just want to look around. I’ve learned to drive when there’s sunshine.
Nighttime driving is especially when the deer seek me out.
In my life, I’ve hit deer four times. Once, they totaled my vehicle.
For some reason, the deer like to go after my car. Never mind the cars whose values depend on how much gasoline is in the tank, but instead they seek my car. It never happens on a leisurely drive, but always when I have someplace important to be. I now have my car insurance number programmed into my cell phone.
At night, I try to drive slower, at least 10 miles below the speed limit. Because they lurk, in wait. For some reason, they get a kick out of being hit by my car.
Several months ago, it was morning, the sun was out, but the fog reminded me of driving on a cold central California morning. They probably figured that it was close enough, given the limited visibility. I could almost hear them saying, “He’s coming! Whom shall we send? … Elliott! You’re getting old and haven’t spent much time romancing the does this past year. You’re not meeting your quota for making new fawns! You’re expendable! Take one for the team!”
Why do deer seek me out? Maybe they know that my sons and their mother’s family love to hunt. Maybe they don’t like my big nose. Or maybe they just feel like getting hit by a car is preferable to being shot by a hunter. Or perhaps they are suicidal.
Not being an expert in deer psychology, I can only offer conjecture.
If you ever see a car driving around Bandera and cruising below the speed limit, chances are it’s me.
To reach Paul, email [email protected].
Before I start, a few questions you might have.
Petersen sounds Scandinavian. Are you Swedish?
Not quite. My great-grandfather was an ethnic Dane who immigrated here with his family when he was around seven in the latter 19th century. He and his family had lived in what was southern Denmark but became northern Prussia after a war over territory.
Why didn’t they just relocate from Prussia to Denmark?
Well, since they and everybody who knew them are now pushing up daisies, I don’t have an answer for that question—especially since we didn’t learn about them until a few years ago.
Do you speak Danish?
No. To me it sounds like a tough language. The meter reminds me of Dutch, and the devil-may-care attitude towards pronunciation reminds me of French.
The Danes love licorice. Do you?
No. But, considering I’m only about 12.5 percent Danish, that’s probably why.
Have you ever met Danish actors Sven-Ole Thorsen or Brigitte Nielsen?
Nope and nope.
Do you like the band Abba?
They’re Swedish, not Danish, but to answer your question, yes. I read once of a Swedish student at Texas A&M who made the football team, and I imagine he pleaded with the coaches, “Take a chance on me!”
Besides writing, what else do you like to do?
I love to play chess, geocache, tell corny Dad jokes, and podcast when I have time.
Are you from Texas?
Alas, no. My father worked in the energy business, so I’ve actually lived in several states. I consider myself an adopted Texan.
Have you ever been to Fredericksburg?
Yes. If you’re visiting and want to shop downtown, here’s my advice: bring your life savings.
That being said…
Sometimes I’ll drive to Bandera whenever there’s business, or if I just want to look around. I’ve learned to drive when there’s sunshine.
Nighttime driving is especially when the deer seek me out.
In my life, I’ve hit deer four times. Once, they totaled my vehicle.
For some reason, the deer like to go after my car. Never mind the cars whose values depend on how much gasoline is in the tank, but instead they seek my car. It never happens on a leisurely drive, but always when I have someplace important to be. I now have my car insurance number programmed into my cell phone.
At night, I try to drive slower, at least 10 miles below the speed limit. Because they lurk, in wait. For some reason, they get a kick out of being hit by my car.
Several months ago, it was morning, the sun was out, but the fog reminded me of driving on a cold central California morning. They probably figured that it was close enough, given the limited visibility. I could almost hear them saying, “He’s coming! Whom shall we send? … Elliott! You’re getting old and haven’t spent much time romancing the does this past year. You’re not meeting your quota for making new fawns! You’re expendable! Take one for the team!”
Why do deer seek me out? Maybe they know that my sons and their mother’s family love to hunt. Maybe they don’t like my big nose. Or maybe they just feel like getting hit by a car is preferable to being shot by a hunter. Or perhaps they are suicidal.
Not being an expert in deer psychology, I can only offer conjecture.
If you ever see a car driving around Bandera and cruising below the speed limit, chances are it’s me.
To reach Paul, email [email protected].