Illustration by Juliana Neufeld
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I grew up in England playing soccer and never really understood the nuances of hockey (or ice hockey as I called it before Uncle Brian advised me to “drop the ‘ice’ now that you live in Canada”) but when the junior hockey season starts this fall, it will be the first time in 15 years my wife and I won’t be driving any boys to any hockey games or practices or tournaments.
I can’t say we haven’t looked forward to this at times. Initially our two oldest played hockey, and then just as the oldest one switched to swimming the youngest started, so we’ve almost always had two on the ice, playing for different teams, sometimes at opposite ends of the city.
There have been more than a few moments of frustration. When they were young, they got the early ice, which I grumbled about because, seriously, how am I meant to get home from work, get a kid ready and be at a game or a practice by 5:30? But then as they hit 15, 16, 17 and were scheduled on late ice, we found ourselves moaning about that just as much – a one-and-a-half-hour practice starting at 9:15 p.m.? On a Tuesday? Forty minutes from where we live?
The worst of course were all the practices. Take a 90-minute weeknight practice starting at 8 p.m. The coach wants the boys there 30 minutes before, so that’s 7:30. And it’s 45 minutes away, though the drive home will take 30 minutes with no traffic.
So that means leaving home at 6:45 and getting home at 10, right? Well, not quite, because you have to add in the 30 minutes boys seem to need in the change room after any game or practice for some godforsaken reason while you wait around in a closed-down rink in a dark industrial park kicking your heels and looking at your phone to see if there’s any new news but of course there isn’t because you’ve already read and reread everything and done today’s Wordle.
Eventually they saunter out of the change room immune to the smell of their hockey bags, headphones on, ready to listen to Drake and make no conversation all the way home. The 90-minute practice takes about four hours. There are a couple a week. Per child.
Games of course are great (better if they win) although they are equally far away and for these, they need to be there a full hour before, and the coach debriefs them afterwards, so that change-room time is more like 50 minutes.
Then there are the tournaments. I’ve been blessed with bus rides to Philadelphia and Chicago with a speaker blaring and 16 teenage boys singing loudly out of tune for nine hours each way. And we weren’t technically headed to either of those cities but somewhere on the outskirts.
Then last year my youngest son switched to basketball and at the end of the season this spring my middle son decided he wouldn’t play next year, wanting to focus instead on Grade 12. So, thank goodness that’s all over. Right?
Actually, not so much. Now that it’s here, it feels like something will be missing as the leaves change this year. Something important. It turns out there’s something pretty special about hockey.
A lot of “growing up” happens at the hockey rink. At first, you’re in the change room with them, helping with elbow pads and shin guards, but pretty soon they want to do that themselves and you’re relegated to lacing up skates. Until that, too, they can do, and they gently advise you that your presence in the change room is … um … unnecessary. It’s great of course, watching your child become independent, but it’s a little strange because it’s as if hockey is teaching them this, not you.
Similar things happen on the ice. One of the smaller players on your kid’s team gets checked or slashed and your kid – as small as he is – steps in, shoves back, ends up in the penalty box and you realize what he’s done. No, he hasn’t committed a penalty. He stood up for someone else, faced down a bully. And you couldn’t be more proud. Of course you’ve talked about this at home, but you have a sneaky feeling he didn’t learn this from you but figured it out at the rink. On the ice. With his team.
And that “wasted” time in the change room before and after the game, which is so unique to hockey? Well, it turns out that’s where they were working out, on their own and away from parents, as a team of peers how to deal with adversity, celebrate success, shoulder responsibility and give and take criticism. Impressively, after a frustrating loss they inevitably emerged somewhat less disheartened.
The truth is, try as we may to prepare our children for every eventuality in life, some things can really only be learned through experience. And I’ve never seen a better place than the hockey rink.
So, kudos to hockey! Despite all the driving and waiting around and laundry, I’m glad we put our sons on the ice. But I won’t miss the smell of those hockey bags.
Mark Angus Hamlin lives in Toronto.