It’s time to hang up the skates, air out the hockey bag and reclaim the downstairs bathroom. Hockey is over for another season. Where will all that gear go?
Since fall, the Carpenter and his 8-year-old apprentice have had their weekend mornings down to a schedule of precise punctuality. It begins with deafening alarms before 6am, followed by lead-footed stomping, lights turned on despite sleeping spouses, and loud voices in a frantic search for a neck-guard that seems to remove itself from a hockey bag that hasn’t moved since the Sunday prior (despite being left in the path of everyone who would like to use said bathroom as an actual bathroom).
Out the door, my two boys jump in the pick-up (grunt) to pick up two more hockey dudes (grunt, grunt), and then head to the drive-through (grunt, grunt, grunt) where they single-handedly support the local coffee and donut economy. They are usually first at the rink. They get that look in their eyes of an excitement they reserve for only two days of the week: hockey days. It’s game time. There is nothing like it.
Because I love the look, and the time my son shares with his Dad, I stay behind. It seems a sacred occasion, a private ritual that doesn’t exclude me, but allows something deeply important to happen that I respect from afar; that my little man is following closely in the shadow of his father, the man I adore most, and it’s best to let the osmosis happen.
Lately, the game of professional hockey has taken a hit (pardon the term), with sickening injuries and brutality. Big boys with bigger egos: that is what the big leagues are all about now. It has ruined my already tainted view of the NHL. Gone are the heroes, for me anyway. Real hockey is about passion, not pay cheques. It’s about skill and sportsmanship, not press releases and endorsement deals. The real heroes, to me, are behind the bench of my son’s house league hockey team.
This year, he learned to respect the game of hockey from three of the best volunteers: coaches Ian, Dan and Jay. Did I mention they were volunteers? My son skated away this season learning that teamwork is about everyone, girls and boys working together, because even the star players need a solid team behind them.
He learned the thrill of a breakaway, the glory of a goal and the agony of a missed pass. Thus, he learned that losing is as important as winning, because it keeps you humble. He learned about consequences and rewards, courage and compassion, and perseverance. My son was given the opportunity (and equipment) to try goaltending, realizing that being a goalie isn’t for him (or his mother). At least he had the chance to try. The boy who could barely skate last year learned to take direction, to focus and to ignore his mother’s cheers from the stands. At the end of the season, my 8-year-old had dreams of grandeur, a trophy on his shelf and confidence that hard work pays off. Life lessons: hockey in the true spirit of the game.
The future of hockey lies in the hands of the coaches of today and their influence on the next generation of players. Thanks for your dedication.