Bobby Orr is my husband’s lifelong hero. Worshipped by many Bostonians, there is a generation for whom Bobby Orr is the be all, end all, of the sport of hockey. (Not being a hockey fan, I do not have any formal understanding of this concept but after a couple of decades of marriage, I have learned a thing or two about hockey and of course, Bobby Orr).
Fast forward to last summer and a trip to the drugstore with my daughter. Upon pulling into the parking space, I had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting a nice looking older gentleman who had just appeared in front of my car. When I opened my eyes, he was but a few inches from my bumper, however still standing. As the man signaled his apologies with his hands, I let my heart rate return to normal. My daughter and I exited the car and headed to the same store a safe distance behind the near accident victim. Moments later from an adjacent store, a man stopped and yelled (insert thick Boston accent here)”Hey, Bobby Orr, how you doin’? My near fatal collision victim (okay at least some serious broken bones) turned and saluted the fans that had now stopped and gathered on the side walk.
Turning to look at my daughter’s face, I realized that she too knew the enormity of my near miss. “You almost took out Bobby Orr”, she whispered, “Dad would have killed you.” And so it goes, decades of marriage and I am pretty sure that my daughter was right that all would have been over when mini-van meets hero!