Rolf Lindberg

life story

My Swedish Father

”Att mötas och skiljas är livets gång. Att skiljas och mötas är hoppets sång.”

"To meet and separate is the way of life. To separate and meet again is hope's song."

This is my hope, that we all, including those who have left this world will one day again be reunited.

Min Svensk Pappa

When I shared my memories of Mama’s passing in 2017, I said that “It was me who won the lottery in 1986, when I came to the Lindberg family as an exchange student and received the gift of a “Swedish Mother”, known to me as Mama. How blessed I was to have had her in my life for 31 years.” Now I must, with a heavy heart, share my memorial to Papa.

I met my Swedish Papa on the 2nd of April 1986 on the platform at Växjö’s Central Station. This is what I remember. A tall and confident man walked towards me and said “Todd Richter, I am Rolf Lindberg, your host father. In two weeks we will stop speaking English to you.” He then easily picked up my rather large suitcase with a broken wheel and we walked to his car. I wasn’t sure what to think. I only knew a few Swedish words and that two weeks was not that much time to learn the Swedish language. But his eyes were kind, and he seemed to know what he was doing.

As I sit across the Atlantic in Minnesota thinking about my tribute to Papa, I am flooded with so many memories. From my first time as an exchange student in the spring of 1986, to reuniting with the Lindberg family during my sabbatical in 2002-03, return trips to Sweden in 2004, 2006, 2008 (twice), 2011, and during my last visit in 2017, Papa always welcomed me “home”. He and Mama always let me know I was a member of the Lindberg family.

During all of my times in Sweden, Papa took it upon himself to provide me with some extra “education”. At first it was things to do with vocabulary and Swedish grammar, which I find difficult. Then it progressed to such things as classic cars, motorcycles, soccer, Swedish history, and travels. His pursuit of knowledge and sharing it with you was a hallmark of who he was. There were times when I wondered how he became so knowledgeable? His thirst for knowledge was something rare. He did not just want to know something, he wanted to understand it.

During many quiet moments, we would sit next to one another in the living room on Skogstorpsvägen reading Smålandsposten. I would get through the sections much faster than Papa, as he seemed to be reading each and every word. When he would finish the newspaper, there would be a brief moment where he paused, and reflected in satisfaction of the information that he just received. The last drop of coffee would be tipped back and he would move on to another task of the day.

I am also remembering his love of cars and motorcycles. When I first met him, he had a beautifully restored 1946 Hudson. Having never been around classic cars, it was ironic to travel to Sweden to get so close to an old beauty. In later trips, we would go to the barn in Rinkaby to see the 1950’s Mercedes and have fika with his car buddy. I also heard many of the tales of his American roadtrip in the Cadillac. In many letters over the years, he would share stories of his adventures with his motorcycle club. Riding through Smålands countryside with club members and stopping for lunch or fika along the way. I would often picture these gamla gubbar motoring along, embracing the freedom of the road and sense of youth. That just might be the secret to a long life.

To my brothers & sister and your families, I am sending you my love and sympathy from Minnesota. I wrap my arms around you and share in your sorrow. I will always love the tall, confident man with kind eyes, who I called min Svensk Papa.

Med Stor Sorg. Kram.