The end of a hockey era…
The cold and dangerous drive to the Cloquet hockey tournament
This weekend was the end of one era and the beginning of another. After nine years in the local youth hockey program, my son and I went on our last out-of-town travel hockey tournament. I’ve been mildly nostalgic since August, realizing with each event that it was “the last one”: the last tryouts, the last MASH season (preseason hockey), the last Thanksgiving tournament, etc.
At least for this past weekend, I wasn’t the only one talking about it being the last one. Before going, I had made up my mind that I was going to enjoy every minute - talk to people I hadn’t talked to much, relax and just enjoy the experience. I accomplished my goal. My son seemed to be more relaxed, too. I have a tendency to live life in over-analyzation. I tend to study faces and listen to others’ conversation, rather than participate; that is a well-honed habit and often fuels my writing. This weekend, I participated. I learned things about people rather than go on assumptions and rumors. I learned that my life isn’t so very different from others (a misconception borne of that habit of isolation and over-analyzation).
This morning, I am nostalgic. I treasure the faces of my fellow hockey parents. I have watched them over the years and we’ve all changed. Some of us commented the other night on our signs of aging. I wish I had gotten to know them all a little better over the years. I wish I hadn’t been so uptight on some travel tournaments. But mostly I am happy that I let go and just started talking to people. And now I’m sad that this era of my life is over.
Oh, hockey will go on for sure. My son will likely play high school hockey, but I’ve been informed that they travel on their own in a bus and stay in hotels in groups. Parents are welcome to come along, of course, but the coaches are in charge. I welcome that! I’m sure we parents will still find time to share coffee in local shops, small-town pizzerias, trips to the local Wal-mart for more blankets, wool socks and mittens, casino dance bands playing country music you haven’t heard in years by old guys in bolero ties, leather vests and snappy cowboy hats (OK, the drummer had three earring in each year), a couple of beer and toasts to life in the hotel bar and all-you-can-eat breakfasts on those trips or we will start to gather in each other’s homes, but it won’t be the same because not all parents will be there. I guess I shouldn’t be afraid of the future, it may be even better than today. I hope to put my thoughts together and share them with my fellow hockey parents at our season-end party.
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