I think my journey in hockey really started at around 3. I say it is around 3 because I don’t actually have a clear memory of it, but that’s when my father said he took me out to the local pond that winter. He said that he put on skates that were slightly took big on him and held me in his arms while he skated around. The entire time I was laughing and hollering. It was the start of a wonderful relationship between me and my father. After he got tired (my father swears he was in adequate shape back then but I’ve seen pictures) I took some time to get on the ice myself much to my father’s horror. After a quick fall, I got back up and was scooting away by sliding on my feet. After that, I was practically inseparable from the ice for the rest of the winter. My father bought me skates and every morning we would go to the pond super early and get some skating in. At first it was just the momentous achievement of not falling over! I can’t remember how many times I went home with a bruised butt, but the first time I made it around that small pond was huge! I think learning without handrails was an interesting choice as I never had boards to smack against. If I got tired it was run into the snow or just take a controlled fall. Although back in those days a “controlled fall” meant more of a plop onto my knees. It took me practically the entire winter just to get around that pond. I was small and got tired easily, but I improved every day. I was going to be like the big stars!
But before all this, it was my second winter with skates and I was raring to go. If last year I was able to skate around the pond, it was going to be this year that I did it more than once! I was still going at it slow, or that was my plan to. The first day we hit the ice, my father surprised me with a wooden stick. He told me that if I was going to pretend to be greatest hockey player I needed the tool that would earn me my name. So I spent about a month skating around with my father watching until I was feeling more confident and I even started to pick up some speed. Some days I even went around 2-3 times without falling. It was simpler times… It was December when I got the real surprise in that my dad had signed me up for a camp that helped young children learn to be better hockey minded skaters. It was here that I would pick up the basics of the game that I had watched on TV and would learn the foundations of my skills going forward.
When I was 7, I stopped playing soccer in the summers and started playing street hockey. There were some kids who played in the neighborhood and I was itching to get some more practice in. My father let me stop playing soccer and every day was spent playing with the “Young Hooligans”. That’s what we called ourselves. We would all wake up in the morning and go to our church parking lot to play. No pad slap shots to the thighs were no joke, but in our rules you took one for the team. Or at least that was the theory, but I still played my offensively minded right wing. It was playing here that I learned that getting hit and getting back up again was important. Other kids were starting to catch up to me and I had to double down if I wanted to be the best in my town. I asked my father to look into off-season training as well. I wanted to be serious and my father could not have been happier. The rest was history as I improved my skills while growing up. I hit my stride really going into high school and haven’t looked back since.