You Can't Spell Chuck Norris Without Awesome. Don't Try It.

Dear Mr. Norris:

Wait, can I call you Chuck? After all, my name is Chuck, too. So we're practically related, right?

Holy crap, we're like twins.

So, Chuck, I just wanted to thank you for attending my Precocious Daughter's karate belt ceremony at her school last night. Actually, first I want to thank you and your wife, Mrs. Chuck, for founding the Kickstart Kids program in Texas and for remaining an active part of it instead of just slapping your name on it like a douchey skull on an Ed Hardy jacket and walking away to polish your collection of gold-plated condor skeletons and hang out with your, admittedly, rather hot spouse.

You're an adorable couple in person, just as you were
when this picture was taken sometime in the 20th century.

PDaughter was quite excited when she learned that you were going to be present when she was awarded her purple belt. But not as excited as I was. Not by a long shot.

My exact words, except I was smiling
and doing an awkward little happy dance.

You, after all, are Chuck Norris, 10th Degree Black Belt, King of the Internet, Destroyer of Men, Slayer of Evil, Purveyor of Home Fitness Equipment. Your fist-pumps punch holes in the ozone layer. You make onions cry. All of your genes are dominant. Your dog scoops its own poop because you don't take shit from anyone.

How many push-ups can Chuck Norris do?
ALL OF THEM.

Plus you're like a huge celebrity, and I am so into seeing famous people. You may have heard that I saw William Shatner's one-man show recently. I'm pretty sure that was covered extensively in the media, although you might have missed it because you were opening pickle jars with threats and charisma. The point is, the opportunity to see both The Shat and The Chuck (well, at least the Other Chuck, with all due respect) in a single year makes me think the Mayans were right. The world may as well end in 2012 because nothing can top that. Unless you disagree, in which case, f*ck the Mayans.

Because I'm pretty sure this is what happened
the last time you disagreed with the Mayans.

Here's the point, Chuck. You sat through a long program of demonstrations and speeches by a bunch of middle- and high-school kids, and you were generous with your applause, and you warmly greeted all of the instructors with hugs and handshakes. And even though by my count there must have been a hundred kids receiving belts last night, you posed for a picture with every single one of them. You smiled and spoke encouraging words. You put your arm around PDaughter and told her she did a great job. And...and your beard brushed her head.

I would have fainted if it had been me.
And you and your beard would have comforted me.
And we would be wearing period clothing for some reason.

It was a memorable and moving evening. My only quibble, Chuck? When everyone else stood and faced the flag during the National Anthem, your bodyguard faced the room instead. What's up with that?

As if anyone could ever sneak up on Chuck Norris from behind.
Or maybe he was making sure no one was staring at his wife's butt.
(Great picture by the awesome Bek!)

Thanks for coming out, Chuck and the lovely Mrs. Chuck. It meant a lot to the kids, and it turned an audience of mature adults into giggling, neck-craning fanpeeps. Except for me, of course.

I wasn't mature to begin with.

And remember at the end of the evening when the room had gone quiet after a huge final round of applause for you, and you were walking out the door to your waiting limousine made from a tame T. Rex? And someone yelled, "Bye, Chuck!"

That was totally me.

P.S. I can't believe I had forgotten this, but my friend SuzyQ reminded me that this was not our first encounter, Chuck. Many years ago you were doing location filming for "Walker, Texas Ranger" in Farmers Branch, Texas right behind the building where I was working at the time. And I went outside and I yelled "Hi, Chuck!" I'm so glad we finally got to finish our conversation.