Hero

A few weeks back, the husband and I took a trip up to Cooperstown, N.Y., home of the Baseball Hall of Fame. You can read a tiny bit about that here and here.

Well, while we were at the airport in Albany, N.Y., I was left unattended for a few moments while the husband obtained a rental car for our use. It was very early and the airport was virtually empty except for one very tall man who appeared to be traveling alone. This particular dude was dressed in casual attire – a polo shirt, shorts and flipflops. I guessed him to be in late 30s or early 40s, and I watched him walk across the baggage claim area, suit bag and carry-on in hand, it occurred to me that he was both very handsome and athletic.

My reflexes weren't what they should be that morning. Our flight had arrived been delayed several hours the night before and we were working off of just a few hours of sleep. I was preoccupied planning a nap during the car ride to Cooperstown, so it took me a second to register that this person walking by me wasn't just a fellow travel. It was my husband's idol and my dog's namesake – Cal Ripken Jr.

Meeting famous people makes some people nervous or shy. Apparently, it renders me retarded because all I could think to say to this man who'd I watched a kid on television and my husband so admired was this:

"Oh my god, I named my dog after you!"

To which he offered an awkward half-smile and ran like hell away from me.

He was gone before I could think to say anything else, like THANK YOU FOR BEING SUCH A TERRIFIC ROLEMODEL or I JUST READ YOUR LAST BOOK AND IT WAS MOVING.

No, all I got out was a shrill: "Oh my god, I named my dog after you!"

Just as the gentleman disappeared into a bathroom a safe distance down the concourse from The Crazy Lady Shouting About Her Dog, my husband reappeared at my side and pronounced that we had a car.

"Cal Ripken just went into that bathroom," I said, pointing. "I tried to talk to him but he ran away from me."

Immediately the husband started walking toward the bathrooms. Just as he reached the entrance, he passed Cal and nodded his head as if to say "good morning." A moment later Cal disappeared, headed on toward his destination. A second later my husband returned to my side.

"Why didn't you get a picture with Cal!" I screamed.

"Babe, that wasn't Cal. That man looked a whole lot like him, but was about 10 years younger than Cal."

"But it was just like looking at him from when he played and I watched on television," I argued.

"Yes," my husband said. "He did look like Cal… about a decade ago…. What'd you say to him anyway?"

"Actually I yelled at him," I said then recounted the exact way I told this complete stranger that I named my dog after him.

Imagine being that poor guy. Later that night he's returned home, kissed his wife and kids, having missed them while on a business trip. Then they probably had a nice dinner together and sent the kids off to be a little early. And that's when he remembered to tell his wife, "The strangest thing happened at the airport today…"

--

One week later, in Houston, the husband and I run into a familiar, but slightly older face.

And this time, I fucking forgot to tell him about my goddamned dog being named after him.