Don Osmond: In my opinion…

Last week’s blog got me thinking about a recent funny experience.

I was pulled over for speeding through BYU campus the other day. Seeing those blue-and-red flashing lights in the rear view mirror conjures up one of the most gut-sinking feelings on the planet.

A husky figure got out of his tailgating patrol car, and from my mirror, I watched him adjust his sunglasses as he prepped himself to deliver the standard lecture.

“License and registration, son.”

As if being pulled over is not humiliating enough, he assumed an overbearing fatherly disposition to put me in my place.

“Do you know how fast you were going?”

I sat there thinking snidely … Fast enough to get your attention.

Knowing better than to mouth off, I politely responded, “It was a little too fast. I apologize, officer.”

After gathering my effects, he moseyed back to his squad car, still flashing lights in a blaze of glory. The victor was waving his banner for all to see as he basked in the grandeur of his afternoon kill.

Five minutes later, the conversation became interesting.

He loomed over the driver’s side window and asked, “Are you related to THE Osmonds?”

Hmmm, do I lie and get this over with, or …

“Yes, I am.”

“Really? Can you get me an autographed picture of Marie?”

I considered this an opportunity to barter my way out of getting a ticket, but knew the officer wouldn’t budge.

He kept me there for a solid 15 minutes where I answered trivial questions about purple socks, white teeth and puppy love.

That afternoon, we both left the side of the road disappointed; me with my ticket, the officer without an autograph.

He wasn’t seriously thinking about scoring an autograph, was he?

There are times when we are mistaken for someone else.

If you are being compared to someone you admire, a case of mistaken identity can be viewed as a compliment. However, there are times you’re told you have a striking resemblance to Tobias from “Arrested Development.” (That’s no lie. It happened to me last week. Please tell me she was joking.)

I digress.

A few years ago, my family and I took a flight to Denver. I think my father was performing out there, but I honestly don’t remember. Regardless, it was a reason to take a family trip for the weekend.

The seven of us boarded the plane in Salt Lake City. My parents and I were seated three-across on the left, and my brothers in the neighboring seats.

As with any typical Osmond sighting, we were picking up a few audible whispered conversations.

“Psst. That’s Donny Osmond.” (Over the years, I’ve trained my ear. It’s kind of a game my brothers and I play; a misspent youth, I know.)

Anyway, we were in our seats no more than 10 minutes before a young, 20-something woman approached us. She seemed a little timid, but with a personal determination to find out the truth about this famous guy. If I were a betting man, I’d put money on the possibility her mother coaxed her into asking — the young ones usually are.

By the time she got to us, it was as though I could read her mind and knew what she was going to ask.

“Excuse me. Are you Donny Osmond?”

I knew it!

But, something was different this time. I’ve heard this question hundreds of times before. What was so odd about this one? She was looking at the wrong person — me!
I didn’t know how to respond. Befuddled with disbelief that she would question me, I responded with: “I’m sorry. I’m not.”

By now you should know the seating arrangements (this adds to the humor). My father was on the aisle, my mother in the middle, and I was near the window. The young women had, quite literally, leaned over my father to ask if I was Donny Osmond.

As I turned to my father, his facial expression seemed to say it all: “Is this girl for real?”
Before we had the chance to correct her error, she started making her way back to her seat, four rows up.

As mentioned before, the experience is either flattering, or disturbing. It all depends on whom you are compared to.

Did she really think I looked 50 years old? Ouch!