I had heard a small rumor that John Stockton was touring the country on a book tour. He was in NY, on the Dan Patrick Show, and even did a segment with Stephen A. Smith on ESPN. I found out he was coming back to SLC for two days, the 15th and 16th, and would sign autographs on Assisted and one other item of your choice, excluding basketball cards. I told my wife about it and she declared it to be a done deal. “You’ll never get this opportunity again” she said. “We have to go.” We live in Logan, UT and knew we would have to make the long drive, probably very early, to get to SLC that morning and ensure a spot in line. But one thing was certain; I was going to meet the man of my dreams.

As a small school boy, I loved #12 despite living in Medford, OR. My Dad would follow Jazz games and I would lie on the floor and watch with him. I always noticed Stockton playing selflessly, making nifty passes, but also taking the big shots. He instantly became my favorite player and I soon got a John Stockton jersey and shorts, which I still have to this day. I followed him from then on – staying up late to watch games, pretending to be him on the playground, choosing to wear #12 for any athletic teams I was on, collecting his basketball cards, writing him letters, dressing up as him for Halloween, and deciding then and there to name my first born son Stockton.

I told my family we would have to meet in Salt Lake for my birthday because I would be waiting to meet Mr. Stockton that day. Weeks prior, my family gave me an early birthday present – Assisted – so I wouldn’t have to buy one myself. During my “Birthday Week” my wife surprised me with a new Jazz hat saying, “Now you can meet John in style.” I received another surprise the night before as when I got home from work and school my wife had two tickets to the Jazz game that evening. We’ll watch the Jazz, she said, and then stay in Salt Lake so we won’t have to worry about driving the next morning. Her rationale, she said, was what if our car broke down Saturday morning? What if there was bad weather? What if we were late and couldn’t get in line? What if the line is too long and we can’t get in? There would be no time for what if’s, she said.

Perhaps it was the short shorts. Perhaps it was because he was white, like me. Perhaps it was because he was little, like me. Perhaps it was because he looked and seemed average, like me. Whatever it was, I greatly admired the way he hustled on the court and the example he was off the court. To a little boy, he was perfect. 

We brought chairs, breakfast, blankets, and all our gear. Despite already being in SLC, we still wanted to get there early, not willing to risk anything. I was in a white throwback John Stockton jersey, with my new hat, while my wife was wearing a purple shirt with John’s face and the old Jazz logo merging into one another. We waited outside for about an hour and then were ushered into the hallways of Energy Solutions Arena. There, we laid down our Jazz blanket and just chatted with the people around us. The couple in front of us had an NBA Finals program and basketball already signed by Karl Malone and Jeff Hornacek. Now they could get the missing piece and have the original Big 3’s signature on memorabilia from the best moments in Utah sports history. The people behind us were secretly getting his autograph for their Mother, a lifetime Jazz fan, and would surprise her with the gift at Christmas. She had no idea where they were that morning.

Time slowly crept forward until it was our turn to meet Johnny. We had noticed many signs saying that John wouldn’t take personal photos. This was quite the bummer, but I figured I could at least get a picture of him. As it became our turn, my giddy, boyish excitement became unbearable. I was antsy and shaking. My wife pushed me ahead and said turn around, smile which I did. John Stockton looked up as we took the picture, smiled for us, and needless to say, I now have a memorable #StocktonSelfie to forever cherish. I then handed him my book and green, throwback Jazz jersey to get signed. As he did so I sincerely said, “Thanks for all the memories, John” He looked up, made eye contact, and as he did so I said, “We love you John” to which he replied a humble thanks. But really John, I thought, we love you.

I have a lot of memories of John Stockton throughout my childhood – breaking the all-time assist mark; the 3 to send Utah to the Finals; all the Stockton to Malones; going to his retirement celebration – but this small, personal touch of five seconds topped them all. He was such a big part of my childhood, yet here I was, as an adult, clinging to the passion of my past. Right there, on my 24^th birthday, I realized I’m still a boy at heart.