I tend to write about baseball and donuts. But like a lot of us, I'm moved by the refugee crisis that's brought a record number of migrants to Sweden. On Sunday morning, I hopped in the car and drove to the place where many refugees first arrive seeking food, shelter, medical attention and asylum.

We've all read about what's happening, but I wanted to see it. I wanted to speak to the families arriving and the people working to help them. Over the next few days, I plan to share some stories about my Sunday morning visit to the migration office. But I'll say here that it felt important. I'm glad I went. My only regret is that I didn't bring donuts.  


I was waiting to cross a busy street yesterday. The light was red and there were a few people on the other side of the road, waiting to cross as well. One of those people was a normal looking middle-aged man. After a few moments, the light still not green, the man stepped out into the street and was nearly hit by a bus that screeched to a halt millimeters away.

The man stood frozen in front of the bus, his hands on the bus windshield, looking up at the bus driver. Both were stunned by what had nearly happened. Everybody around was stunned too. Traffic came to a standstill.

The man continued across to where I was standing. When he reached me, I took a hold of him and asked if he was OK. He wasn't. The driver of the bus opened his window and instructed the man to walk ten feet up the road to the nearby bus stop and wait for him. The man staggered back over the street again (all cars were still stopped) and did as he was told.

The bus edged forward. When it reached the stop, the doors opened. The bus driver and the man exchanged words. Then the man, who had been headed in the opposite direction, stepped onto the bus that nearly killed him, took a seat near the driver that saved him, and rode the bus away.