I remember the one and only time I met the man Gretzky himself idolized. It was my 8th birthday. My dad decided to celebrate by taking the family to Sunday brunch at a new place in Glastonbury, CT. That place was Gordie’s Place.

Mr. Howe had opened the restaurant not long before my birthday and my Dad wanted to check it out. So we put on our Sunday best, hopped in the Volkswagen, and headed east across the Connecticut River.

Now brunch wasn’t the most exciting way for an eight-year-old to spend his birthday but this was Gordie's Place, Mr Hockey's newest endeavor, so it couldn't be all bad.

We walked in and I remember there was a lot of wood: wood paneling and flooring and, or course, the tables. We sat down and looked over the menus for a bit. Within moments we ordered and my eyes scanned the room for Mr. Howe.

Our buffet came and as we began to eat I noticed a man in the far corner talking to a few of his associates. I knew immediately that Mr. Hockey was in the house.

I wanted to meet him but was too shy to go over and say hello. My Dad, the ever-gregarious sort, hopped out of his chair and strolled over to Mr. Howe. I watched, incredulously, as my Dad carried on a conversation with a hockey god.

After a minute or two, Dad made his way back to the table and my eyes grew wide as Mr. Howe followed. My heart began to pound and I tried to think of something to say. My mind was blank as usual and in another instant my Dad was at the table, introducing Mr. Howe to my family and me. I shook his hand and was amazed at its size. He seemed to be a giant and I’ll never forget how big and thick his neck was. Why, I thought to myself, would anyone challenge this man on the ice?

Mr. Howe was gracious and cordial, congratulating me on my birthday. He asked me if I'd ever gone to a Whalers game; I can't remember if I told him I had. He lingered for a few more moments, thanked my Dad and the family for coming to his restaurant, and stepped away.

My eyes followed him back to the corner of the restaurant where my Dad had first approached him. He had resumed his conversation with his associates, discussing matters of great hockey importance.

I looked down at my plate and tried to eat. It was to no avail.

Mr. Hockey had wished me a Happy Birthday.