Let's hear it for the bears

By now, most of you have probably heard of my affection for all things bear. Most of my friends refer to me as "Big Bear," even my cousin's kid calls me Uncle Big Bear. When asked what my real name was, she simply replied "Bear?" Yeah, it's strange. I'm not particularly hairy, or bear like in any way. I've been told I give good hugs, and that I'm a hugger, but that was by this crazy girl that I went on a blind date with once that tried to kidnap me back to her house and got her straw stuck in her hair at dinner. So I don't really place her evaluation of my hugs in very high esteem. That was an awful date really. But that's another story.


Anyways, I guess the origin of the bear thing dates back to my grandma. She collected teddy bears, in particular Paddington Bears. You know, the bear that wears galoshes and I'm pretty sure was some sort of British orphan. Not really sure on the story of Paddington. Did his mom drop him off on a doorstep, ring the bell and run? Were his parents poached? I don't know. Anyways, she always had a thing for bears. The only movie I ever remember going to with my grandma was "The Bear." You know the one with like 3 words in the whole movie? Probably not as good as I remember it, but I remember thinking that little bear was the greatest thing ever. So they've always been one of my favorite animals.

I remember when we took a family vacation to Canada and down through Montana and Yellowstone, my entire goal was to see a wild bear. Never happened though. My sister claimed she saw one, but by the time we got to where she was, there was no bear. I was so mad, I called her a liar, which my brothers thought was hilarious, so they joined in, and we ended up making her cry. Yeah, I wanted to see a bear so bad I made my 10 year old sister cry. Ridiculous. Sorry Erin!

Anyways, the bear thing went dormant for a few years. Then came the movie Super Troopers. One of the greatest movies ever. Anyways, at the end of the movie, the good cops and the bad cops get in this slapstick drunken fight, and in the background there's a song playing. It's called "Big Bear" by the band Steak. Not a particularly great song, but for the next few days, I just kept laughing to myself and mumbling "Big Bear, he's iron tough!" My roommate Dave caught on, and started calling me Big Bear. For whatever reason, I started calling him Big Bear, and we've both been Big Bear ever since.

Now the bear thing is out of control. Dave and I make bear noises to greet each other on the phone. I have a bear shot glass, and I don't drink. Grant made me a calendar for christmas in which he superimposed my head on a bear's body and vice versa. I'm driving to Portland this weekend for the outdoor sportsman's expo not because I like fishing or hunting or camping necessarily, but because they have a live 600 pound grizzly on display. Rachel tells me at least once a week...."Baby, you're not a bear."