Last weekend, I was in Minsk, Belarus, to see the Russian KHL’s All-Star Game. After the game, I was standing in the mixed zone, listening to former NHLer Ville Peltonen, also a Finnish national hero thanks to his hat trick in a World Championship final against Sweden in 1995, when some fans showed up.

They said, “pleez, pleez” and gave Peltonen some small flags, posters, and a pen. He said, “sure,” and signed a half a dozen autographs, and posed for a few photos.

(Some of my colleagues thought it was such a no-no that the KHL should be fined, but my story’s not going there).

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It’s been twenty years since I last read Peanuts, but I used to be a huge fan. A huge fan. Reading about Charlie Brown taught me a lot about life, I discovered new words – “anxiety”, anyone – but mostly they just made me laugh. I could relate to all of the characters at some point in my life.

What a joy it was for a little pre-teen Finnish hockey guy to find a Zamboni on the pages of Peanuts, let alone strips abut Snoopy playing hockey. “Here’s the world famous hockey player winding up for one of his spectacular slap shots…”

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I can say that I pretty much compete with everyone, with the exception of three people and those three happen to share my street address and my love for the “Make’em laugh” scene in Singing in the Rain. (Although, to be one hundred percent honest, I think I love it the most. And I’d be perfectly happy to say I finish second in that race, but I don’t).

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I like my name. I like my initials. The letter R is a very special one to me. I used to love the blinking R that marked replays on sports broadcasts. I sign my emails with just a single R, and my little hand-written notes to friends and family with a backwards R, like the one in Toys R Us.

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“Who’s going to like a guy who’s just being funny and doesn’t even want to wear socks?”
– Son, a week before Christmas, 2009

Your mother, Son, your mother. And I’m not talking about your mother as your mother, if you know what I mean. If you don’t, let me explain. Your mother, my wife, the smiling little chickity that takes care of business in and around the house, once fell in love with a guy who was just being funny, and never, ever, wore socks in his shoes.

(He did wear shoes).

Yes, that would be me.

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