Rinks

Today I was in a hockey rink that I have never been to before and yet it was exactly the same as all the others.  Some rinks are built with bricks, some are the tin can variety, and some are throw backs to another era with wooden benches.  Two things remain universal inside every rink: 1) everyone’s opinion of what the “right” call the referee should make is different and 2) the loudest person in the rink usually knows the least about the game.

As I stood there today, I realized that I have been in four different rinks in the past two weeks.  This is not earth shattering but it is odd since I am no longer a ‘hockey mom’.  The Boy is an adult and my role is no longer chauffer.  I am a mere fan.  I love it.  I simply show up when I am ready, watch the game and the leave at my leisure.  I treasure his nod of the helmet acknowledgement I receive – once - during the game.  Last week I went to a game and it was a real treat to run into another hockey mom that I haven’t seen in ages.  We agreed it was good fun to see the boys (for they will always be the boys, not men) on the ice together again.  Gone are all parental delusions of grandeur, these boys are playing for fun only.  This rink is brick rink with wooden benches and the flooring looked like it had been redone since the last time I was there. 

Earlier in the week I was loitering in the community rink looking at old hockey team pictures.  It was really, really hard to find The Boy amongst all the faces.  I tried doing the math of how old he was in 2005 or 2007 and what level that age is and then figured out if Atom came before or after PeeWee and what year did he not play because of the broken wrist….Oy.  I ended up relying on the coaches to landmark the years. I laughed at the pictures of hockey hair and smiled at the memories.  Sadly, the boys will not be playing in this rink again – no ice time available.  This rink is made of bricks and cement.  It has remained the same through all of our years of hockey.

Last weekend my little niece asked me to come to her skating lesson.  I found it odd to be sitting there with my little brother watching his daughter navigate the ice.  As we adults talked I kept remembering him learning to skate when he was about the same age.  There are still moments when I find it hard to believe he is a parent – because he has always been my little brother.  But there he is doing up skates and zipping jackets and this little girl calls him dad.  It was one of those full circle moments.  This rink was more bricks than tin and so new it does not yet have smell of frozen sweat permeating through it.

And that brings me to today. When I am watching a game, I prefer to stand at one end of the rink, just off to the side of the net. I was standing there today, Tim’s cuppa steeped tea resting on the ledge, watching another niece play in a girl’s hockey tournament.   Many years ago The Girl played a season of girl's hockey before deciding it wasn’t for her.  Her games were usually in a community rink with a terrible viewing area.  She did not have any tournaments other than the standard minor hockey week tourney.  This was a very short lived hockey career and yet very memorable. I’m not even sure The Girl owns skates now.  Today’s rink was like a tin can, metal frame, tin roof, metal seating.  It had the rink smell, the loud ‘fan’ and young referees being judged by the crowd.  New rink for me but it was oddly familiar. Good game, too.