A few weekends ago, I had the honour and privilege to spend the weekend babysitting my five-year-old nephew, Aiden, in Wainwright, and he happened to have two hockey games during that time.
Followers of my column may recall that I am not at my best before sunrise. OK, let's be honest, before noon. But I gamely stumbled, bleary and uncoordinated, into the Wainwright arena at 7:30 a.m., following my nephew, who was disgustingly bright-eyed and bushy tailed and happy to be there.
The night before, my mother had given me a quick lesson on hockey gear and where it goes.
“Shin pads,” she announced. “They're for shins. Not to be confused with elbow pads, which are for elbows.”
Confident, I'd rolled my eyes and said, “Don't worry, Mom. I've got this.”
Lies, all lies.
Surrounded by hockey moms and dads, Aiden and I gamely struggled through the process, figuring out where the equipment went. It was all going according to plan until I was on my hands and knees, struggling valiantly to get his little feet into his littler skates, and realized that his hockey pants were still sitting on the bench, forgotten.
Those hockey pants would become the bane of our hockey existence.
Luckily, I didn't send my poor little warrior onto the ice, pantsless.
The rest of that first morning went well, aside from the moment when I was trying to buckle his helmet and he shrieked, “You're crushing my skull.” It could happen to anyone, right? Someone's mom came to our rescue and he toddled off onto the ice, clutching his stick, with his skull mercifully uncrushed.
An hour of watching my nephew roll around in the net and along the boards followed. Half way through, he found me in the stands, waved, and hollered, “Can we go home yet?”
I hid my face and wondered the same.
Still, like troopers, we survived the game and all the way home, I gave him little pep talks, hitting the important highlights of his performance. It went a little something like this:
“Aiden, what do we do in the net? That's right, we don't roll around, we try to stop the puck. And what do we do when we're near the other team's net? That's right, we don't crawl in to help them keep the puck out, we try to get the puck in. And what do we do when we want to go home? We don't sneak back into the locker-room and hide, we suck it up and pretend we're having a great time. Right?”
He solemnly agreed and the next morning, we tried again.
I repeated yesterday's lessons as we worked on dressing him up in all that gear. Around me, hockey moms and dads were giving little pearls of wisdom like, “Don't forget, Johnny, Mason's going to pass you the puck right in front of the net because I brought my camera, so don't forget to look up and smile while you shoot. I want to scrapbook this.”
And, “Don't forget your jockstrap, Timmy. It's the most important piece of equipment!”
In our corner, Aiden and I were having a different conversation.
“Do we sit on the ice, Aiden?” “No, Auntie Lissa.” “Do we crawl in the net?” “No, Auntie Lissa.” “Do we play hockey without pants, Aiden?” “No, Auntie Lissa.” “And what's the most important piece of equipment? That's right! Your helmet.”
Both of us were determined to put on a better show, and I climbed up into the stands, confident that Aiden would do better.
And for the most part, he did. He had the best game of his life.
I cheered pretty loudly, I'm not going to lie. I shouted encouragement too. While other hockey parents were screaming, “Shoot, shoot!” or “Pass!” or “Skate hard!,” I was shouting, “Get up, get up! Yay, Aiden!” when my nephew, who only learned to skate three weeks ago, fell over but didn't give up.
His stick touched the puck three times – once, when he was hanging out in net helping the child whose turn it was to be in goal (against that child's will, sure, but we'll take what we can get), once when he actually shot the puck up the net towards the opposite net, and once when he was on defence and actually noticed the enemy player skating by.
Imagine how loud my cheers got at that point.
That was the most important lesson Aiden and I learned during our weekend of hockey. Not that you need to be the best skater, not that you need to be the best player. We learned that if the game ends without you once falling over, giving up, and asking to go home, you're a success.
Get up each time you fall down. Skate as fast as you can. Do your best, try your hardest, and there will be someone in the stands rooting for you, no matter what.
And the last bit of hockey wisdom I shall leave you with is this:
If your child has a bathroom emergency halfway through the third period and you are required to help them scramble out of their gear, don't forget to tie the hockey pants back up. No one wants to be the kid who loses their pants at the centreline in front of their team mates.
Sorry about that, Aiden.
