I guess it’s fitting that we started our first hockey lessons the same week as the ice storm.
Brrr. I may never be warm again.
My sweet boy wants to be a hockey player. So we signed him up for an 8 week session that focuses on the skating part. Pretty crucial part of hockey. He loves — LOVES — to watch hockey on TV but getting out there on the cold hard ice and learning to play is a completely different story. I prepared myself for the possibility that we just dropped a not-so-small amount of money on ONE practice. I prepared myself for the “I’m just not good at it” or “it hurts” reasonings that would likely follow a hard fall.
Folks, the boy did not even hint at the possibility of quitting. He got out there and fell. And fell.
AND FELL.
He hit hard.
A lot.
And out of the 100 or so pictures I snapped of him, he is smiling in at least 75 of them.
He LOVED it.
I’m not sure he understands how sore he is going to be in the morning but I’m sure he’ll say it was worth it.
He was so tough. My sweet angel is well on his way to becoming a Goon. A bash brother. A toothless wonder.
He loves the Ottawa Senators and the Anaheim Ducks (no surprise there). And tonight, I truly think he went out there thinking he was as tough as those guys he watches on TV. He wouldn’t slow down for a second. He probably would’ve stayed upright a little longer if he’d only slowed down a little. But the boy was on a mission. He told me he was tough and getting tougher.
I don’t know who this kid is. And I don’t know how I feel about it. I’m torn between not wanting him to get hurt and not wanting him to give up. And the not wanting him to get hurt part is going to be hard to manage because hockey, well it just isn’t likely that you won’t get a bump or a bruise or a break or two. I’m insanely proud and extremely anxious.
Please send wine and chill pills. And maybe oxygen and/or a brown paper bag or two.
We are now a hockey family.
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