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Stepping forward, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my face against his chest. “What else do you know about bears?”
“Grizzly bears have a biting force of like 1200 PSI, which is strong enough to crush a bowling ball,” he says, resting his arms on my lower back and holding me close.
“Yeah?”
“True story.”
We stand here for several long seconds, just wrapped in each other’s arms, before separating and continuing through the enclosure. Before we reach the end, a young boy walks up to us. “Excuse me,” he says quietly. “Are you Brock Williams?”
A flash of panic crosses Brock’s face before he schools all his features. “Me? No way, man.”
“You’re not? Wow, you look just like him!”
Brock snickers. “Yeah, I hear that a lot.”
The young boy’s features fall as he slowly turns around. “Darn it. I thought I was meeting my favorite player ever!”
Something flashes in Brock’s eyes. “Hey, what’s your name?” he asks, crouching down to look at the young boy in the eye.
“Stephen.”
“How old are you, Stephen?”
“Ten.”
“Well, Stephen, what if I let you in on a little secret?” When the boy eagerly nods, Brock glances around before whispering, “I’m Brock.”
His face lights up with pure excitement. “You are?”
“I am.”
Confused, he asks, “Why did you tell me you weren’t him?”
Brock leans in. “Well, my friend and I were trying to go unrecognized today, but I should have known a big fan like you would realize it was me.”
Stephen nods eagerly. “I am a big fan. Big, big fan.”
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Stephen.”
The boy’s eyes are so wide, it’s almost comical. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you, okay?”
“I appreciate it, Stephen. Hey, do you have something you want me to write on?” he asks, pulling a pen out of his pocket. When the boy produces a napkin with a smear of mustard across it, Brock flips it over and signs his name, adding a personal note to Stephen before handing it back.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Williams. I’ll keep this forever,” the boy insists.
“Stephen, get over here!” a man hollers from across the enclosure.
“That’s my dad, so I better get back over there.”
“It was nice to meet you, Stephen.”
The child gives him a toothy grin before taking off to where his family waits. When he reaches his dad, he holds up the autograph proudly, the dad’s surprised as he glances over to where we stand. Brock waves before taking my hand and leading me away.
“That was sweet of you. Why did you tell him who you were?”
Brock shrugs, linking our fingers together. “When I was a kid, I would have killed to meet some of my favorite athletes. It hit me, while I was telling him I wasn’t the person he thought I was, that could have very well happened to me. How sad would I have been if someone I had idolized did that? Even if I don’t always want to be recognized, the fact is… IamBrock Williams, and I owe it to my young fans to acknowledge them, even on the bad days. They buy my posters, jerseys, and whatnot. They deserve for me to be me.”
I smile, gazing up at this incredible man. “You’re pretty great, you know that, Brock Williams?”
