"Guess what I have in my hands?"

"Guess what I have in my hands?” I asked Riley over the phone. I was on my way home from work and had called to let him and Connor know I would arrive shortly and to pass on directions to make sure their homework was done and they were ready when I got home.

I am not positive how to describe the sound that came through my cell phone at that moment; a high-pitched shriek mixed with what one might consider a sinister sounding cackle and then possibly what appeared to be hyperventilating. I knew Riley would be excited at the announcement of our family attending the 2008 autograph signing party for the Utah Jazz. Last month after going on a tour of the Energy Solutions Arena with his scout group he proclaimed to me later that night, he would “never wash his hands again” upon touching the very shoes sported by no other than Carlos Boozer. (I am pleased to report that his intentions have not been fulfilled)

I gathered up my three youngsters and drove around the corner to pick up the last member of the “fantastic four”. Danny is Riley’s age and may not live in our house, but based on numerous comments from my sons, together with my own intense observations, has unanimously been voted in as one of “the boys” in both their eyes and mine.

The five of us arrived 45 minutes early intending on beating the forewarned madhouse, and was a little let down that the line had already extended far enough it was in the “bending” stages around the block. We found the end of the line and I stood our ground as the little foursome found it too difficult to contain their excitement and exploded, dashing around the crowded open space playing tag and occasionally reporting back to me in line with updates of “the line isn’t moving yet” and questioning “when is dad going to get here?”

Chet was going to meet us there. He was coming from work and had stopped at Fanzz to get a Jazz jersey for each of our kids and him a ball to get autographed. Spencer would join us also and I held our positions waiting for their reinforcements and listened to the chatter around me advertising the no-shows for that night including Carlos Boozer, Mehmot Okur and Kyle Korver.

6:00 finally hit and we all stood in line anticipating the opening of the floodgates. As if to drive the idea of “we own you” home, they opened the doors precisely not on time but about 15 minutes later, which ultimately gave us the time to discuss our plan of attack. Spencer would split off with Riley and Danny and take up positions in line for Riley’s choice, Andre Kiralenko. Dad would take Rando and make camp in the all popular line for Deron Williams; and C-Monster would come with me to “find someone else”.

As I took hold of Connor’s hand upon being herded through the front doors, I watched as others darted off in different directions with an urgency I apparently was missing. I looked down at Connor and asked, “Where do you want to go first?” He looked just as confused as I did so we just started walking.

We got in the first line we came to that seemed fairly short. We obtained Matt Harpring’s autograph in no time and moved on the next shortish line. After getting Paul Milsap’s and Coach Sloan’s we were casually making our way along the roundabout of the arena when we happened by the Jazz girls. Not one person was in line to see them and my motherly side kicked in and felt a bit bad for them for some strange reason. I stopped Connor and asked, “Do you want to go get the Jazz girl’s autograph?” Confident my inquiry would be met with the usual crinkled-up nose as if the very mention of the word “girls” brought an unfavorable stench with it, I was pleasantly surprised to see him shrug his little shoulders and say a simple, “OK.”

All four girls made such a fuss over the little boy that stopped at their table early on considering who the alternatives were. They expressed their gratitude for us stopping and we continued on our adventure. We joined the rest of our group at that point and carried onward getting signatures from Deron Williams, Andre Kiralenko, Ronnie Brewer, Ronnie Price, Ty Corbin, CJ Miles and Jaron Collins. Connor had shown the others his autographs on the back of his jersey from the Jazz girls and they all decided they wanted the same.

The excitement of the evening overshadowed the lack of dinner for most of the night and then it hit all four of them almost simultaneously. Exhausted, we made our way over to the super-healthy Crown Burger and I delighted in listening to the boys discuss the “girly-smell” left on their jersey’s from the Jazz dancers in an attempt to display their disgust. I am not sure they were entirely convincing.

As I listened to them jabber on the way home that night about the events of the evening, I was so content to see the joy created in that one simple night out and was filled with so much satisfaction. A smile formed across my face thinking about the cargo I was hauling and I thought once again to myself, “Guess what I have in my hands?" "And the Jazz party tickets weren't all that bad either.” Wow! Am I ever blessed.