Back In The Hockey World

When I was younger, two of my children played hockey.  It wasn’t my scene back then but I went and supported them just as I do now with my Grandchildren. My husbands goal in retirement was to be able to help our kids with their kids. He saw himself bringing the Grands to practice and games if the parents were busy or working and unable to leave early. Grandparents are a very important role in the lives of little people. The relationship is special. My Mom and Dad would drop everything to come and watch a sick kid if we couldn’t miss work. But they also showed up in the strangest paces and times to watch my kids. It was consistent or expected which is what made it so special for the kids. For myself, I was a taxi driver. Every season had different sports for all of the kids and it seemed like I was always driving someone somewhere. I liked the swim meets, gymnastics competitions, baseball, lacrosse, basketball and even soccer, although I had no idea what was what in soccer. What I did not really enjoy was Hockey. Let me rephrase that. I did not enjoy the hockey culture. Nope… What I really think is this. Hockey parents are a little different. And my hubby and I just didn’t fit into the community.

My first instinct when my first child started to play was that I needed to write a how to book for new hockey parents. List the common phrases and explain the vibe behind the game. What is the vision statement that encompasses the game. This is pure sarcasm by the way. Or perhaps I am being sardonic. Regardless, I realized that the book would be very short indeed. I would only need one page to discuss the game whose name is quite obviously considered the life blood of the Canadian people. Forget the rules. As a parent you can just make them up and complain about the refs from the stands as you sit comfortably on your seat warmer, sipping a double double from Timmy’s and shake your cowbell because you never bothered to learn how to whistle. A penalty is when a kid on the other team does anything that makes a mother fearful for her own child. A bad call is when your own child gets called for something that isn’t that bad or… they didn’t mean to. 

The only words you need to learn are skate, pass, shoot, hurry, and go. It is important to yell them over and over and as loud as possible. It is especially important to yell pass when there is no one to pass to or if your own child is on the ice and no where near the action. Shoot is what parents need to yell when the team is nowhere near the goal and clearly does not have clear possession of the puck. Skate is an important word to yell if your child is completely out of it and confused as to what sport they are playing. Hurry and go should be repeated over and over while raising the voice to an octave you never knew you could reach. Now a phrase most Dad’s use is “Oh, come on ref!” These are the guys standing at the top of the stands behind the seated parents. Either arms are crossed or their hands are in their pockets. This phrase clearly displays their displeasure without actually voicing what they think is wrong. It is a more advanced phrase as it gives other people the impression you actually know a thing or two about hockey. Now a rookie Dad would spout off something specific such as “Hey…penalty shot!!!” after a kid with a semi break away gets pulled off the puck. You don’t want to appear stupid by making a specific comment. Always be vague. Men are better at that. 

Recently, my cousins grandson came to stay with me for the school year. He is from Denmark and plays Hockey so he wanted a year away from home to play the game he loves. To learn from the Country whose name is synonymous with the word Hockey. It has been around 15 years since I had a child in my home playing hockey. And let me tell you this. It hasn’t changed one bit. Well, the administrative side is different. Everything about the game is on line. There are apps for everything. I guess its good but as someone who hates email, I hate these apps. Anyone who does anything has to communicate with everyone else. It is efficient but in the end I prefer to be left out of the loop. Now, all of my family were defencemen. My cousins grandson is a forward. I have fallen back into the habit of watching the defencemen in the game. My son was number 5 for many years and there is a D-man on this team who is number 5. I watch him pretty much for most of the game. When I watch the forwards I realize I know nothing about their role other than to score goals. They honestly seem to just skate in circles all the time. The centre always looks out of position. But then again I have no idea what they are supposed to be doing. So I keep my mouth shut. This is the best advice I can give a new Hockey Mom. Zip it. Zip it Good Hahahaha.

It was a hard transition for the cousins Grandson. His first game ejection and two game suspension came after a retaliation penalty. Now to be fair, the other guy tomahawked him across the back which is pretty brutal. I didn’t actually see it. I was listening to two young girls chatter about their brother, a player on the other team, and how they hated coming to his games. I hear ya sister. I saw the aftermath in the car. Not having a vested interest in the game makes me see things differently. He is getting an education about Canadian hockey and often his attitude is “that’s stupid.” Might be but there are a lot of kids in this game and in the end we need to protect them from killing each other. Especially in the high teen years when emotions and hormones are raging. After five months I think I have instilled in him the number one take away from his time playing in Canada. That guy with the whistle and striped shirt? He owns you buddy. He doesn’t care what you or your Mama thinks. If he blows the whistle, it’s a penalty. Otherwise it isn’t. And he is human. Piss him off and he will remember. 

The coach was lamenting the poor caliber of referees these days. Apparently one guy, an old guy, could barely skate. Horrible ref. Ruined the game. Now, it’s all hearsay for me as I bring a book to the games. Usually something deep and thought provoking like Kahlil Gibran’s “The Prophet” or Kurt Vonnegut’s “Cats Cradle”. I have a little smoke before I go into the arena. Make sme ever so chill. I bring my book and coffee over to a secluded corner in the stands and immerse myself in the written word. It is a blissful state. But back to the ref’s. I think there will always be those that are more and those that are less capable. As it has always been. Frankly I wouldn’t do it. But for those who think there are no good referees, put your thinking cap on and ask yourself why? Maybe… Just maybe, there is a turnover due to the shit and abuse these people take from parents, coaches, and even the players themselves. I myself question how some of the associations are run, but since I am not going to volunteer, I keep my mouth shut. 

Frankly, what I disliked the most about hockey when my kids were young is still what I dislike today. Parents. Parents love tournaments. Not so much for the kids but it gves them a weekend away with a bunch of likeminded people who use it as an excuse to party, I don’t know about you, but I can do that at home, with friends I have had for years, and not expose my children to a group of drunk adults. I don’t need to go to another city, spend money for a hotel and meals, to get drunk with people I barely know. I’m not big on the whole drinking thing so as the sober participants, it gets cringey real fast. My basement room mate went on one such weekend awhile back. There were stories of boys stealing a luggage cart to bring their hurt friend to the Pizza place down the block. A group of drunk Mom’s then took possession outside the Pizza parlour and gave each other rides up and down the street. Apparently its harder to manouever when you’re drunk and even harder to hold on. The result was a number of drunk women in their fourties laying in the snow laughing as they tried to crawl to their feet and stumble back to the hotel. Special. They always say it is so the kids can bond but I think it is more for the parents. And it worked for this team. Our first home game after the tournament had one parent passing out mini red solo cups in the stands, while another cracked a bottle of Cinnamon whiskey and poured everyone a shot. They then toasted their sons with a loud cheer and tossed back their drinks. I inched farther away. I think I am the only one who read the rules about drinking in the arena. These parents risk being banned from city arena’s for a year. And for what?

My children had very different experiences in the hockey world. Not better or worse just different. My daughter is very much a team sport individual and made life long friends. She still pays ice hockey and ball hockey in women’s leagues and is a coach for her 11 year old daughters hockey team. Things have changed drastically since she played and women’s hockey has not only grown by leaps and bounds, it is also being recognized and applauded as it takes its rightful place alongside men’s hockey. My son did pay at a higher level than my daughter but he is not that guy. He had a natural mental clarity for the game and instincts which can’t be taught. But he didn’t have speed and he wasn’t a team guy. Now when I watch him skate I am amazed at how beautiful he skates. But he is a dreamer. A loner. He got into university and stopped playing hockey. He was busy, but there was no love for the game. It was the same for all of the team sports he played. Everything he does these days is individual. Swimming, snowboarding, squash, long boarding. His closest friends are varied. Few from sports. My daughter on the other hand continues to improve and train and play. Even as a busy Mom of four she embraces the games of her youth and strives to give her own kids the same experiences. She also embraces the friendships she made. Girls sports is a much different community and Drew truly has been blessed to be a part of her many teams.

I have to admit there are some friendships I made from the hockey years but most of that was because we all had cabins at the same place, I don’t see them now but I hear from them now and again. We all lost our cabins in the 2013 flood so we have scattered. Grandkids and retirement consume us now and we are seriously busy doing a lot less thatn we did when we worked. If that makes sense. Retirement is about being selfish with your time. So even though hockey isn’t my favourite, I watch my grandkids play. It is important for the littles to see you there. I watched my Grandson play a game one day. His Grandfather from his Dad’s side was also there watching. But Grandpa had a plane to catch so he left as soon as the game ended. Little Louie was so excited to see me but when he learned that his Grandfather had gone he was so sad. No matter how much we explained that Grandpa had been there for the whole game, it didn’t lift his spirits. Both Grandpa and I learned a very important lesson. You can miss most of the game as long as you are there at the end. When I think back, I remember my own kids coming out of dressing rooms and being excited to see my Mom and Dad there. It isn’t just about watching them. It’s the feeling that someone goes out of their way to be there. It makes them feel important. Seen. Loved.

I am not a person for regrets. We did what we thought was right in our lives. I have learned that it’s the little things that are important. The brief moments in time. Yes, our kids and grandkids love when we watch them. But it’s the fact that we took time for them. I didn’t care for hockey much, but I always went. I drove all three kids to so many practices, games, tournaments, meets, and tryouts. One year in Junior High my oldest was in three basketball tournaments. Three different teams. That was a logical nightmare. BC, Alberta and Saskatchewan. We saw so much of each province with our kids because of sports. I don’t regret one moment of time we spent on the road. It was much different when I was young. Five years of Volleyball and my parents never saw me play. My husband was in a slowpitch tournament when he was 28 and his Mom came to watch. His brother and sister were on the same team and it was close to her house. He remarked that it was the first time she had ever seen him play. He started little league when he was 8 but he rode his bike to practices and games. We laughed. I was never bothered that my parents didn’t watch me play sports. I was alone on a podium for a medal in a Provincial track meet. My first year running hurdles. No pictures. No fanfare. But when I got home they were so proud of me. And when I decided Track was my thing, I gave it my all. Everyday after school I practiced hurdles, high jump and long jump. For hours. Around supper time my Dad would show up with a sanndwich and a drink. “Your Mom says you need to eat” he would say. We would talk while I ate and he would leave as I started to practice again. I didn’t stop until the school custodian came to put the equipment away. One night he forgot and I was trying to get that one extra inch in high jump. It was dark and my Dad showed up. But he didn’t make me leave. He replaced the bar over and over again as I tried and failed. When I finally made the jump I was so excited. My Dad hugged me and said… “Time to go home.” On the way he told me he was proud of me. I knew it wasn’t the accomplishment that made him proud. It was the fact that I didn’t give up. In the end, at the meet, they never even raised the bar to my personal best. Second and third were more than two inches lower. I learned the important things about sports from my parents. Some of life’s greatest accomplishments are as a result of never giving up. And most of the time no one is there to watch. But that’s ok. Because we do it for ourselves, not others. I’ve learned that a sandwich and a drink were exactly what I needed to keep going. And my Mom and Dad? They were proud no matter what.