By Heather O.
My parents have a famous neighbor. Seriously. I can’t tell you who it is because a) I’d have to kill you, and b) My father would kill me right after I killed you. He firmly believes in protecting other people’s privacy. Once, when I was kid, Karl Malone was eating with his family at the same restaurant we were. The Mailman himself people, and that was when he was still delivering for Utah, except when he would totally and completely choke and fall back on his pathetic jumpshot which always missed, and before he abandoned ship to go play for that OTHER team, just because he was tired of not having a championship ring, which of course was all his stupid jumpshot’s fault. (sigh) For a while there, it was just REALLY hard being both a Jazz fan and a Red Sox fan.
Anyway, I’m sitting there watching this behemoth of a man chew his food, and I think, Hey, I’ve got a napkin, my mom’s got some lipstick–everything I need for a kickin’ autograph. I get it all together, and my Dad gives me THAT LOOK, which is funny, since he doesn’t actually have that many looks, and rarely uses any of them. Come to think of it, he really only has the two–his normal look, and THAT LOOK, so when I saw something different on his face, I knew he meant business. Plus, he looked a little weird, so I was transfixed, just a little bit.
“Don’t even think about it”, he said. “Let the man eat his dinner in peace.”
“Nobody else is letting him eat in peace”, I whined, which was true. People were high fiving him, calling out his name, just generally letting him know that the people of Utah appreciated him. I mean, c’mon, like professional atheletes don’t totally just LIVE for that kind of stuff. Hey, word up, Karl. Don’t go out to eat in Salt Lake when the Jazz are on a roll and expect people to leave you in peace. Of course, you can’t go out when The Jazz are losing, because then people would just throw things at you. Best stay home then if you don’t want to be impaled by a spork.
“Well, you are not going to be one of those people”, my father said, which left a distinct impression that I would get THAT LOOK again if I ever dared to be one of those people. And since THAT LOOK was freaky enough in the first place, I abandoned all hope of the Mailman’s John Hancock.
So, Dad likes to give people their privacy. And I don’t want THAT LOOK again.
And that brings me back to the neighbor. He and his wife are very pleasant people, really. They do regular stuff, like wash the car, paint the garage, and pick up their mail. But every time they do these things, I think, ‘Oh my gosh, Mr. Famous Person is washing his car! Wow!’ or ‘Mr. Famous Person is wearing shorts while he paints his garage-I can’t believe it!’ And I even contemplated calling my sister today to tell her all about how when I stood out on my parent’s front stoop playing with J and MFP came up and said, “Hey, you guys aren’t locked out, are you?”
Oh my goodness, he’s talking to me–ME! What do I say? Act natural, breathe, breathe.
“No, we’re just waiting for my husband. My son really wants to show him his new toy”, at which point J holds up his new ball and says, “See?”
MFP said, “Yeah, ok,” and walks into his house.
I mean, I would say that passed for an actual CONVERSATION with MFP. Will wonders never cease.
Why do we get this way around celebrities? I haven’t seen MFP do a single stupid, silly, or celebrity type thing at all ever, and yet every time I see him, I feel awed that I get to watch him, even do something as mundane as, you know, OPEN HIS GARAGE. It’s pathetic, truly. And yet, like a trainwreck, I just can’t look away.
So let’s hear your Mr. Famous Person stories, and how you are in awe of a moment like seeing Kristi Yamaguchi eating french fries at Logan airport, or Harry Connick Jr. grunting to you as he signs the program you push towards him, or shaking John Travolta’s hand. Ah, if life were made of moments….
Oh, and just to make this post somewhat Mommy related, I should inform you that halfway through the writing of this post, J crawled into my lap in a seemingly loving mood, snuggled up to my face for what I surely assumed would be a kiss, and blew his nose all over my cheek. Oh yeah, I’m treasuring these Mommy moments. Every snot filled one.