On Hockey, Skating, and Kyle

At some point, months and months ago, Kyle got it into his head that he wanted to play ice hockey. We have no idea where, how, or exactly when, this began. But it took hold and wouldn’t let go. Kyle became insistent that he wanted to play hockey. Kyle had only ever skated on ice a handful of times in his life. We had never seen an ice hockey game on t.v., let alone in real life. Nobody we know plays ice hockey. Nobody we know is even a huge fan of ice hockey. I grew up watching ice hockey (it was big in northern New England), Braydon’s dad played ice hockey growing up (even played in college), but that is about the extent of the familial influence (i.e., very little familial influence). For whatever reason (we’ve never figured it out), Kyle was (and is) determined to play ice hockey. This has, right from the very start, not been something that we have strongly encouraged. We have not discouraged it either. But we definitely have not encouraged it. I, for one, can think of about 100 other sports I’d rather have my son play. Hockey can be a hard, cold, ruthless, vicious sport (thus, my fear and trepidation). Hockey can also be a fast-paced, complex, demanding sport… and about as physically and mentally challenging as it gets (thus, my understanding of why Kyle wants to do it).

At the end of the summer, when it was clear that Kyle’s obsession with playing ice hockey was not going to let up, we offered him a deal: if he took ice skating lessons all fall, and still loved it and wanted to play hockey, then we’d let him sign up for hockey after Christmas. He jumped on the opportunity. Every Friday night, from the start of the school year until now, Kyle has taken ice skating lessons (while Owen took gymnastics). At first, Kyle was right about average in his Beginner Ice Skating class. But he quickly advanced and became the pet of the teacher. She raved about him all fall – telling us how talented he is; what a good listener he is (how “coachable” he is… this is what everyone who has ever coached Kyle in any sport has always told us); what good balance he has; how quickly he masters skills; etc. etc. etc. We kept waiting for Kyle to lose interest, to lose momentum, to lose steam. But he never did. If anything, his obsession with hockey just intensified as each week went on.

At the rink where he took skating, on Friday nights, there was almost always a hockey game going on at the same time (they have two full-sized rinks there— and on Friday nights they use one for figure skating lessons and one for hockey). After his lesson, Kyle would beg and plead to “plllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease” be able to go watch the hockey game. Often it was Lehigh playing (this is their home rink). Sometimes it was a high school game. It didn’t matter what it was, Kyle was enthralled. He’d have stayed there all night, if we’d let him, and he’d often be close to tears as we dragged him out of there kicking and screaming, but he’s only six years old and he needed to get home to bed.

 

At home this fall, Kyle set up a hockey “rink” in our driveway. Many an afternoon he’d get Owen to join him out there. They played hours and hours of hockey on the cement.

And sometimes on weekends, if Kyle was lucky, Braydon would take Kyle and Owen to “Open Skate” at Kyle’s skating center. Owen loves skating, for fun, and would play hockey any day (both K & O would play any sport any day if ever given the chance). But Owen is not serious about it, nor interested in it, nor obsessed with it, the way that Kyle is.

And so, this past Friday night, Kyle had his last skating lesson of the fall. And now we have to somehow, someway find the strength within us to hold true to our promise and sign him up for hockey after Christmas. He’s earned the chance to try it.

I’ll be honest: I’m not thrilled about it. Again, I can think of about 100 sports I’d rather have my son play. In addition to all of the physical reasons I’m fearful of hockey (i.e., aggression; violence; pain; hard-core man-to-man checking against the glass!), I’m also well-aware of how ridiculously white the sport is. And, let’s just say, I get some vibes from the hockey crowd that don’t rub me the right way where race and racism are concerned. (now I’ll probably get 100 nasty comments on this post for writing that, but honestly, people, it is my honest truth and it must be said). Once again I am faced with the cold hard (no pun intended) reality that I cannot protect my precious son, but only prepare him as best I can.

And so, I’m gathering up my mother-courage to bring my son into this hockey world and cheer for him from the stands. I will hold his hand every step of the way. And we will hope for the best… whatever this little hockey-journey might have in store for us.

Perhaps, once he gets going with it, this hockey thing won’t last? Perhaps it will? Who knows. But you can’t see that look in his eyes, as he’s peering at you through the glass of the rink, and not know that you need to give him a try.