Lockout over!

Sure the headline is hyperbole, but not in the Graham/White household.

Let me start by saying that I may have been the world’s worst hockey player when I was growing up. I was the kid that clung to the boards as my teammates and opponents raced by me, spraying snow into my crying face. I was huge for my age and played during the era of full contact, so occasionally, by complete accident, someone smaller would run into me and get hurt. Being the soft sensitive man boy  that I am, built for comfort not for speed, I would be more upset at my calamitous body check than my unintended victim.

I also scored two goals in one game.  On my own net.

So, whether purposefully or by complete apathy, I never encouraged my two sons to get involved with hockey. I wanted them to learn how to skate, because lets face it, public skating on a brilliant winter night, top 40 blaring on the crackling speaker is a pretty special Canadian experience. So lessons and twice a year public skating is where it landed.

Until this year when Stephanie almost unilaterally decided to sign up both our boys for hockey.

It was an announcement not a decision. It was a local league that promised no select players, no screaming coaches or parents and it was outdoor, only once a week. No harm, no foul.  Tasman was into it as we promised some of his best friends, twins actually, would be on the same team. Hud was promised the same thing, a good friend on the same team, but he was naturally apprehensive due to his naturally apprehensive personality and his sound understanding that, at 10 years old, the window for competitive hockey may have closed.  But, due to my wife’s stringent decision making skills and my reluctant buy in, we convinced him this would fun, if not a great experience.

So last night was game and practice one for both of them. Unfortunately, Tasman twin friends were pulled out at the last minute, leaving him a bit stranded and not as “into it” as he was when initially proposed. The other thing we quickly realized once the mighty Bruins jumped on the ice is that wow, there are some six and seven year old children that can really skate.
Skate a lot better than Tasman.

It was quickly apparent that Tasman was going to be the worst skater on his team.

My initial reaction was anger, anger at Stephanie for a haphazard decision for making a significant decision without preparing our children for what can be an affecting emotional experience. Then I felt sad, sad for Tasman as he kept wiping out and crying, demanding to be taken off the ice, yet still getting back up and listening to the coach who made it his job to get Tasman through the first practice.

Then the coach through him a puck. Tasman started skating a little better, taking gentle swipes at the puck, and slowly moving back to the pack of Bruins, trying to integrate with his teammates.

Then the game started and I stupidly walked over to check on Tasman. His eyes were red and watery and he asked to not play in the game. Every little pore in my body wanted to pull him out and hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay and he didn’t have to play if he didn’t want to. But I didn’t. I told him I was proud of him, told him to try his best and I would see him after the game.

And as you can probably guess by now, he started to have fun. Sure he wiped out more than anyone else, but a couple of times his stick accidentally hit the puck and he beamed that thousand watt smile through his cage. Or so Steph told me because I was in the dressing room wringing my hands trying not to run on the ice in my sneakers and hug my little boy back until his spine hurt.

Hudson?  Well again, not the greatest skater, but completely opposite to my prognostication, the other kids were not that much better. I guess at that age, if you have real aspirations about playing competitive hockey, you don’t join this folksy neighborhood league.

I am usually an optimist, but I was skeptical about how my boys would react to being at the back of the hockey skills bus. It was so nice to be surprised about how much they loved it and how eager they were to return next week.

My lack of faith was borne of protectionism, but I am so happy and proud of them.

My boys.