|(I’m running errands for my pregnant wife. While walking to a nearby store, I see two teenagers harassing a child that is only four or five years old. I shoo them away from the boy, and he introduces himself.)|
|Me:||“So, where’s your mom at?”|
|Boy:||“She’s in the store. Do you have kids?”|
|Me:||“Not yet. We’re expecting a baby girl soon, though.”|
|Boy:||“Well, she’s going to turn out nice, like you! So, I’m going to marry her someday!”|
|(I laugh, and play along while I bring him to the service desk, and wait until his mom picks him up. Six years later, my daughter comes home from school and introduces us to a friend that defended her against a bully on the playground. I didn’t recognize him, but he certainly knew who I was!)|
Let me explain you a thing.
When I say I adore Misha Collins, I don’t mean because he’s attractive or funny (though that comes into it), I mean because he is a genuinely nice person.
I was at Asylum 10 this weekend, and for Misha’s autographs he wasn’t allowed to personalise things because of time constraints which is fair enough. However, when I was getting mine, I managed to blurt out (I mean it I was shaking really hard) how important it was to meet him, as Asylum 10 was a goal for me not to kill myself.
The second I said that he stopped writing and looked up at me, and his response was:
“You need better goals.” I almost laughed but I was really trying not to cry, so I responded with:
“No. I don’t.” At this point, he reached across the table and grabbed my hand, pen still off the paper. He looked up at me, shaking and almost crying and smiled and said the simplest thing. At this point he let my hand go.
“See you next year?” I nodded, I was shaking really hard and I picked up the picture and went to leave, but he grabbed my hand again and pulled me back a little. He asked for my name and then wrote what it says on the top left hand corner. He squeezed my hand and smiled and then let me go.