The Boys are Back in Town – Part Two

Ned Braden: What are you doing?
Jeff Hanson: Puttin' on the foil!
Steve Hanson: Every game!
Jack Hanson: Want some?

I have a funny hockey story. And by “funny”, I mean “embarrassing”.

I’m good friends with Best High-School Coach Ever (hockey) and one of his players gave him an autographed picture of Dave Andreychuk. Sunshine gave it to me because he knows 1) our captain is my most-favorite athlete and 2) my children are also HUGE hockey fans.

My youngest taped the picture on our refrigerator door – the ultimate honor. I agreed because that allowed me to gaze lovingly at the man who gives professional sports a good name.

A few months later, our new neighbor locked herself out of the house early one Saturday morning. She noticed the light and knocked on our door. Husband invited her in and offered a cup of his world-famous coffee. We liked her and her husband immediately because they’re from Buffalo (my home circa 1978-1981) and because they sent over a bottle of wine as a thank-you.

They also invited us to their house for a small gathering the following week. Husband and I mingled, met family from upstate New York and were led outside for drinks around the pool. We met their friends.

“Nice to meet you.”

I could have died when Dave Andreychuk got up and shook my hand. Could. Have. Died.

I sat down and carried on a normal conversation as if he worked for IBM. My man and I acted totally cool. When we talked about living in Boston, Dave said,

“You lived in the North End? We lived in Beacon Hill.”

I wanted to shout,

“I know! You played for the Bruins! And Buffalo! I LOVE YOU!”

But I didn’t. I kept it together and didn’t dare geek out. Husband made him laugh twice. New best friends! Then my neighbor said,

“Katie, tell Dave what you have on your refrigerator!”

At first I didn’t understand the question. When did she see my refrigerator? Then it hit me. The early morning coffee in my kitchen! I turned as red as my wine.

“No…” I said, wishing to disappear. “That’s okay.”

“Tell him,” she said, laughing. “He’d get a kick out of it.”

I took a deep breath. My cover had been blown. How could I salvage a bit of pride?

Three words: Blame the kids.

I acted like my boys were the stalker-fans and I’m a normal, clueless mom who humors them. My neighbors mentioned bringing the boys to meet Dave and I just nodded my head. Inside I’m thinking, No way. My oldest would sell me out for sure.

“Mommy, look! Your favorite player!”

Some people need their kids to humiliate them. I do just fine on my own. Later that night, Dave's picture went in a photo album where it can no longer cause me embarrassment. (Yet I can still look at it lovingly from time to time. See how that works?)

Hockey is back. Woo-Hoo!

That’s all I’m saying.