When the big white car pulled up in front of our townhouse, I couldn’t have imagined how the moments that followed would affect my life.

I was 10 years old and we had just moved to Minneapolis. I was always a huge baseball fan. As an 8 year old, I was thrilled that my tonsillectomy was concurrent with the 1968 World Series….a series where my beloved Detroit Tigers erased a 3-1 deficit to defeat the St. Louis Cardinals behind Mickey Lolich’s 3 victories. Now in the Twin Cities, I wasn’t sure where my allegiance should lay.

I was throwing a tennis ball up and catching it when the well-dressed man stepped out of the car. He looked at me, smiled, and said, “Hey, you wanna play with a real ball?” I was elated as he threw me the ball, then walked to a townhouse three doors down from ours.

When I looked at the ball, it was the genuine Major League Baseball article! The ball had obviously been used in a game, since it had a black streak on it. Wanting to fit in to my new hometown, I wrote “Harmon Killebrew Home Run Ball” in green ink on the ball. I still tremble with excitement when I think of that moment!

That evening at the dinner table, my mother said, “You know who’s moving in across the street? Rod Carew!”

What??

The guy who threw me the ball was Rod Carew? THE Rod Carew?? And I wrote Harmon Killebrew’s name on his ball?

In the next several months, when our paths would cross, Rod was amazingly nice to me. Once, while sitting in a car waiting for my dad on a rainy day, Rod knocked on the window of the car and handed me a baseball personally autographed by the entire team. He also took us into his apartment and showed us the silver bat he earned by winning his first batting title.

Years later, my family was dining at a local restaurant when my brother noticed Rod and his wife. I nervously approached his table to say hello, and when he saw me, his face lit up and he said, “the little red-headed kid from St. Louis Park!” I couldn’t have been prouder that he remembered me.

There are many ways this encounter changed me. The most obvious is that I have been a rabid Minnesota Twins fan since that day! Not so obvious is a lesson I learned from Rod and then had reinforced by watching my gracious, locally famous mother. It’s a cliche, but it’s absolutely true:

A person who is nice to you but rude to the waiter, or to others, is not a nice person.

What’s true of waiters is also true of 10 year-olds. Thanks, Rod, for taking time out of your Hall of Fame career to make an lasting impression on a little kid. In his eyes, you’re a true hero.