Logic be damned...

A couple of hours after the Devil got cut from the second team she tried out for and I'm doing my damnedest to remain objective and unbiased; but I for the life of me cannot apply logic to this one. Admittedly this is not the first time either of my kids has been in this position and I know it's easy to assume I am not looking past the aforementioned bias. I myself have witnessed parents who wear obviously high prescription rose-coloured glasses when it comes to their children's abilities. I can confidently say I hold no illusions of grandeur However, in this case I have a few undeniable facts in hand that make this cut confound me. One primary fact being that she made it all the way to the last set of cuts on the higher team and here she was not able to reach at least a comparable level. It confounds the Devil too and I have no ready answer for her other than she did not meet whatever criteria was being used to rate the players and make the selections. I realize this is a new set of tryouts, drills and evaluators, but I would also hope that previous and relatively recent history would also have some bearing if not hold significant weight in the total analysis.

Confoundation aside (assuming confoundation is even a word as the spell check herein will dispute), the Devil seems somewhat ok with her fate; a sign that she, like the Boy has come to realize team selections are ultimately they have little to no control over. Back to minor hockey being a microcosm of life where there are a whole range of intangibles (like personalities, politics and human nature in general) that factor into decisions made and unmade.

As doting parents with a suddenly fragile psyche in tow, we and the Devil ploddingly made our way to the mall and local Costco to shop the disappointment away. A pair of shorts, a pair of jeans, a three selection plate Chinese fast food, a gecko shaped kite and a 12 pack of stubby Pop Shoppe soda pops later and she was well on the road to recovery.

This one has certainly been tougher on my logical mind. However, I have often found myself saying "it is what it is" and here I do again.

In another couple of hours the Boy will start his AA tryouts where I'll sit, watch and cross my fingers for him and his quest. Because I too, clearly recognize that finger crossing has as much bearing on the whole process as anything else he, she, I or anyone else can do.

#imahockeydad

On to the next...with momentum

Getting to this pretty late tonight (11:30 to be exact) because we didn't arrive back from the Devil's Bantam AA tryout until 10:45. Kinda late for a 12 year old. Hell, kinda late for her 40+ parents and I'm pretty sure all the other parents at the rink this evening nodded their silent agreement. The young girls on the ice tonight certainly didn't appear to have the same jump in their step on crispness on their passes at they laboured through the last of four sessions. They were most certainly feeling physical and mental fatigue.

Despite a valiant effort and a pretty relentless effort, the Devil was not selected to be part of the AA team. However, before the final news was delivered the coach did an excellent job letting all those who remained until the last tryout know that they should be proud of their efforts. He encouraged them all as they move into tryouts for the next team and hope towards having a shot at making the top team next season.

Shortly after the girls left the ice and dragged their tired bodies out to the lobby. The news was delivered to each player individually in a sealed envelope that each was instructed to open after leaving the premises, so as not to have to announce the result in public, for better or worse. I believe this is a good method that avoids a lot of potential and unnecessary embarrassment. The Devil, for her part, hustled out to our van clutching her envelope in anticipation. I'm pretty sure she/we had a sense this team would be very tough to crack, but we were also all willing to suspend disbelief until the final verdict was rendered. Inside the envelope was a handwritten note from the coach (nice touch I thought) and a form letter, which both indicated what we had suspected. The note reiterated that the Devil should be proud of her accomplishment in having reached the final cut and wished her luck in the next round.

And so the next round of tryouts start tomorrow night and continue for four straight days after that. Very little time for the Devil to stop and reflect on what just happened. Rather, she will need to dig a little deeper, recharge, refocus and show the same effort she just displayed over four AA tryouts to a brand new set of A team evaluators. In what has become a recurring theme, all of this trial, tribulation, physical and mental stress is simply part of another wonderful learning experience.

As for me, I'm here writing and, as will be no surprise, watching an NHL playoff game between Vancouver and Los Angeles. Just now I'm wondering how many different variations each one of the NHL players I'm watching have of the tryout story I've just described. Perhaps their presence at this level means they've had fewer failures, but I'm also sure some of them have had their fair share of disappointment. Indeed their presence at this level is an indication of their ability to persist despite of and in the face of failure.

You would think I'd have had my fill of the game for the day, week, month, year, but my fine Canadian nature seemingly can't get enough. As it's currently 3-3 in the third period I may be watching this game through an overtime or two - which in turn means into the wee hours. I take solace in the fact that I'm fairly confident I'm not the only one.

Did I mention that the Devil's next tryouts begin tomorrow night and the Boy starts his journey into the next season three days from now? Wish them/us luck.

#imahockeydad

The Devil gets serious

Just a short post to note that the Devil, previously reported to be freaking out at the prospect of going through AA Bantam tryouts and almost not making it through the front door at tryout #1, has done very well so far. She has progressed through three sessions and all the way to the last round of cuts.

It should be noted that she has done a particularly good job of holding her ground in one-on-one battles against the boards, quite often coming out with the puck on her stick. An occurrence obviously not lost on the evaluators. Tenacity and desire to win battles is not something you can teach; particularly to 12 and 13 year old girls. This I know from experience and not from some backwards chauvinist perspective.

The Devil is succeeding thus far despite that fact that she has inherited her size, or more accurately her lack thereof, from her father. Yeah, seems I acquired and have passed on mom's and not dad's genes where height is concerned. I guess I can be partially blamed for the Devil getting the short end of the stick. Being a minor in a minor/major division can see her going up against girls who are a full year older and in some cases a full foot taller. But this, along with some other unseen force, seems to be motivating her to try a little harder.

There's no telling what may happen two nights from now at the final cuts, but the Devil seems to have turned an initially perceived negative into a resounding positive. This is something she can carry forward whether she makes this particular team or not. She was reportedly even found out on the driveway tonight after school practicing her shot against the garage door (thankfully with a tennis ball rather than a puck). I think I feel a Tim Horton's or Canadian Tire commercial bubbling to the surface. Daddy's quite proud of her. Someone cue the motivational background music.

#imahockeydad

What doesn't kill you....

We returned to the rink with the Devil tonight after a solid week off following the end of the 2009-2010 season. We are out of the pan and back into the fire of tryouts for next season. I say we returned to the rink, but it was touch and go for a while there as the Devil had a pretty good case of the of nerves that brought with it a fair display of waterworks. Last night she in no uncertain terms proclaimed "I hate tryouts. We knew she was nervous, but never expected this. She was pretty stressed out and we gave her the option of just turning around and going home. Hockey after all is supposed to be fun. Fun was quite obviously the last thing on her mind.

Tryouts are about as stressful a time as there is in minor hockey. And stressful for everyone from the kids trying out, to the anxious parents in the stands, to the coaches who have the unenviable task of dashing the hopes, dreams and expectations of a few young athletes.

Being cut from a hockey team is rejection and it sucks plain and simple. But then again, we could only hope that this is the worst thing that will ever happen to our kids. Rather, this is part of the growing experience and I'm pretty sure it prepares and strengthens kids for other rejections and disappointments they will undoubtedly have in life. Hockey again forms a microcosm of life.

I can still vividly recall the first time the Boy was cut from a team. He was 10 years old and it was a cut he didn't see coming. He sat still and quiet doing all he could to hold back tears. The look of bewilderment and disappointment in his face had me reaching down around my ankles to find my heart. But he held it together and went on to have a great hockey season on the next team he was chosen for. There have since been more tryouts through five years and more cuts. As he's gotten older, the Boy has naturally come to realize this is all just part of the game and sometimes there are factors you can control and sometime there are not. The much heralded politics of hockey is a topic for another time.

Our "situation" tonight we believe stems from one of the Devil's earlier less than and all too memorable tryout experiences. Two years ago, when she was 10 (seems like 10 wasn't the best of tryout years for either of my children) the Devil made it all the way down to the last set of cuts for a team she hoped, nay expected, to play on. In defense of the coach picking the team at the time, the Devil did not have a stellar performance and was somewhat under-sized relative to the rest of the players trying out. She was on the bubble. So it came down to the last set of cuts after the final tryout. The girls were asked to form a line and file in one by one for an interview with the coach. Logistics for the process were not good. Those who were cut would have to walk out of the interview and back past all of those waiting to be interviewed. For those who were cut, this would equivocally be a "walk of shame". I'm sure you can tell where I'm going with this.

The Devil was first up and as we entered the room for the interview I'm pretty sure her 10 year-old grip drained the blood from my hand. She sat quivering across from the coach as the verdict was read, "I'm sorry, but we don't have a spot for you on this team." I reached back down to my ankles as my heart found its way back down to that familiar place. The Devil politely said thank you. We proceeded briskly down the walk of shame feeling the stares of everyone as we passed, but not daring to make eye contact with any of them. I remember the Devil seemed to be a virtual rock at the time, but here we are two years later and the sting of that cut apparently remains just below the psychological surface.

And yet, she did manage to make her way out onto the ice with 40+ other girls, many of whom likely had a similar set of nerves welled up in the pits of their stomachs. And, possibly with some bias on my part, she performed well and did not look out of place; though perhaps still relatively undersized as she is a full year younger on a team to be comprised of two age groups. There were cuts tonight, but the Devil was not among them and perhaps this will provide some strength to bolster her for the next couple of weeks.

Did I mention that the Boy's tryouts start next week.

I'm just hoping I can keep my ticker above my waist this year and that my kids get by with their psyches somewhat in tact. Surely, all of this can't help but make them stronger.

#imahockeydad

We're All in this Together

My wife and I attended our second Annual General Meeting of the week tonight. This time for the Boy's local minor hockey association. We are both of the mind that it is important to participate in the process in order to have the right to effectively praise the positive and occasionally bitch about the negative aspects of our family's shared hockey experience -- "shared" is the operative word.

As I sat listening to director's and VPs' reports about the season past, attendees questions/concerns about all manner of issues and the brief campaign speeches delivered by those looking to join the board, I was reminded that all of the over 100 people in that room were there by choice. All were there in the interest of improving the hockey experience for their children and in some cases for other people's children as many in attendance don't or no longer even have children in hockey. Now that's dedication.

Being a volunteer convener myself, I've been consistently impressed by the number of parent and particularly non-parent coaches who give their time to teach and guide our boys and girls. Being the head coach of a minor hockey team, rep or otherwise, can be a second full-time job demanding hundreds of hours for team selection, team communications, budgeting, pre and post practice and game preparations, scheduling and balancing the interests of up to 17 families. Team managers are important helpers, but the coach is ultimately responsible for the team. It also carries with it a significant responsibility in terms of human development. A coach, good or bad, can have a life and character defining effect on the developing minds and characters of those being coached. I know I can certainly point to coaches from my youth who had an influence on how I would come to view commitment, responsibility and the world in general. And I also know my kids have adopted opinions, attitudes and habits from past coaches.

The associations who define my children's hockey experience, not unlike those in other parts of the world rely on the unselfish volunteerism of countless people. They cannot be commended enough for their efforts. Tonight our association rightfully honored one particular volunteer who participated on no fewer than three association committees this past season in addition to several outside of our association. Never mind that this person also juggles a full-time job and helps out at her children's school (in her spare time). This person is a Swiss army knife personified. A quick glance at her driver's license may reveal that multitask is indeed her middle name. But, of course, she like many others will continue to give of their time because they feel/know it's the right thing to do.

We don't always agree and can sometimes vociferously disagree with the decisions and actions of coaches, managers and/or association officials. But maybe the next time we have a notion to complain (and there will undoubtedly be a next time), we will stop to reflect again on the voluntary nature of the the hockey world we live in and consider our complaint in that context.

#imahockeydad

Little Johnny's best game

Coaching young boys and girls hockey introduces you to a whole range of budding characters and unique personalities. In the formative early years, many kids and their parents are experimenting with sports, hobbies and other activities as they try to identify what activities fit; what will these developing minds and individuals develop a burning passion for.

For example, when she was young, we thought the Devil might enjoy taking dance classes. Other girls her age in school seemed to enjoy dance, so why wouldn't she. We signed her up for dance and diligently escorted her to a couple of months worth of lessons, which culminated in a spectacular recital with a fantastic theme that not surprisingly slips my mind. The one unexpected aspect of the whole dance experience was the costume, which for this particular recital, was pink, purple and excessively frilly. For the Devil, learning to dance was one thing; having to wear something pink, purple and excessively frilly was quite another. And so, post-recital our adorable little girl raced out to the parking lot of the auditorium, tore off the pink crinoline beneath her purple skirt and sternly announced she was through with dance.

She has also tried gymnastics (far too much stretching). Then another round of Tap & Jazz dancing (because we somehow forgot about the whole costume thing and were again thoroughly underwhelmed by the frilly Scarecrow getup required for a new age production of The Wiz). Horseback riding was suggested and contemplated, but the lack of one critical component, namely a horse, proved to be a showstopper.

So far, hockey has been the preferred pastime; even with its cold early morning practices, dad's yelling "skate, skate, skate" from the stands and the occasional disappointment of a personal or team loss. Last week she spent a few hours brooding over having put a shot over the crossbar on a breakaway - a shot that would have tied a critical tournament game. So far she keeps coming back for more.

Such was not the case for one of my favourite young personalities from the Devil's minor tyke (4/5 year old) house league team. Little Johnny's parents diligently brought him to practices and games each week, but it was readily obvious that Little Johnny didn't really want to be there. Maybe it was his preferred prone position on the ice for the majority of practice or his general lack of effort/interest prior to, during and after games. I actually spoke to his father about it on one occasion, but Dad rightfully wanted to see Little Johnny at least fulfill his commitment to the team for the current season. According to Dad, playing hockey was actually Little Johnny's idea in the first place. But now, in short, hockey had quite obviously become Little Johnny's frilly dance costume.

In perhaps one of my all-time favourite moments in hockey thus far, Little Johnny came to the bench after a shift one game part way through the season and we engaged in the following conversation:

Little Johnny: Coach Jeff?
Me: Yes Johnny.
Little Johnny: You know what?
Me: What?
Little Johnny: I really suck at hockey.
Me: No you don't Johnny. You're getting better and just need to keep working at it.
Little Johnny: Nope, I suck. I can't score a goal and I don't want to play anymore.
Me: Oh, Johnny, I'm sure you'll get a goal sooner or later.

It took some convincing and cajoling, but I did finally get Little Johnny to go back out of the ice a few shifts later. On that shift, as it turned out, Little Johnny found himself fortuitously at the side of the net with the puck close by. In a moment of pure brilliance, Little Johnny quickly picked up the frozen black disc in his little gloved hand and threw it into the open net behind a bewildered goaltender. That wasn't Little Johnny's last game, but I'm guessing at some point he discovered another passion; perhaps shot put, javelin or pitching.

I've encountered a few other kids like Little Johnny who were there because their parents wanted them to be; perhaps to realize some unfulfilled dream from their own youth. But many others who seem to have a real passion and love for the game. I've certainly learned a lot from both. Most of all I think I've come to realize that kids need to be given the freedom and permission to discover what they feel fits them and to rip off the crinoline if it doesn't.

#imahockeydad

It's all about the kids

So how fortunate is it that the day after I begin this online journal my better half, who's as much of a hockey mom as I am a hockey dad, should in a surprising development become the Secretary of the Barrie Women's Hockey Association?

We were simply going to the Annual General Meeting this evening to exercise our right to partake in the democratic process that the constitution of the association affords us. To hear what various members of the association had to say and to have our own say as active members in the best interest of our children. We sat in relative silence as the meeting progressed through a review of last year's minutes, a report from the association's accounting firm on the state of the balance sheet, year end reports from the various board members and a couple of motions raised regarding proposed bylaw changes; raising our voting cards in agreement or disagreement when called upon. Relative silence only because dinner for me was a post-AGM notion and lunch was a distant memory.

Next up - the election of new board members and when they reached Secretary an existing board member's finger was eagerly pointed at my unsuspecting spouse. After some exaggerated hemming, hawing and aw shucks guffawing, my wife accepted the nomination and subsequently the position by acclamation. Who else would be crazy enough to give up more personal time for an unpaid position?

I suppose I should point out that I likewise took on a role this past season as a rep convenor in the Boy's hockey association in an obvious moment of lapsed judgment. Convening a division that, of course, has nothing to do with either of my children or their personal hockey experience.

And why not, we both weren't already devoting an inordinate amount of time to our kids' favourite pastime. Why not fill those few moments away from the rink with additional hockey-related politics and paperwork.

But indeed, that is the point. It is all about the kids. We have been putting all of our time and effort into this over the past ten plus years because we firmly believe it will benefit and enrich our kids lives today and for years to come.

On occasion, these sacrifices reward you with pleasant ancillary surprises. I will likely never forget bumping into a 12 year old boy a couple of years ago, who I had helped coach in house league five or six years prior. He was one of the smallest boys on the team, but as is usually the case, one of the most tenacious. If memory serves, I nicknamed him the bulldog. We heaped encouragement on the bulldog and he always responded with extra effort. I had not seen him since that house league year and upon recognizing him I asked if he remembered me. Not only did he remember me, but he told me I was the best coach he'd ever had. I don't have to tell you that a comment like that makes all the aforementioned time and commitment well worth it.

So I, the convenor, coach or on-ice helper, and my fair bride, the newly appointed secretary, trainer or team mom, will continue to give our time to help our children and hopefully some others along the way benefit from being part of a team, part of an association, part of a self-sustaining hockey community.

#imahockeydad

Beginning at the End

As I recently made my second trip of the day from my office in Markham to the Powerade Centre in Brampton (approximately 30 minutes on the highway) to see my youngest play in the Barrie Sharks' second game in the Ontario Women's Hockey Association Peewee BB Provincial Championships (even typing that was exhausting); it occurred to me that I need to start documenting this major component of my life...my life as a hockey dad. When my relatively new colleague found out about my trips back and forth to the rink he said "Man you are hardcore", which added fuel to the fire.

This is something I probably should have started doing a long time ago both for its cathartic effect to counter the mental fatigue of being a hockey parent and to leverage a personal, but thus far untapped, passion for writing. I do not think it would be much of an exaggeration to suggest that I spend at least half of my waking hours on my way to or in a hockey rink. As a software salesperson, I often quip to whoever will listen that I can generally be found in one of three places; at home, at work or at a rink. I am still working on finding a way to get someone to pay me for watching my kids play hockey.

I in no way think my situation is unique, as I look around at the thousands of other parents who join me on the roads and in the arenas 5-7 days a week from September to May. I can not fathom how parents with the last name Sutter or Staal have survived physically, mentally or financially with four or more children playing at a competitive level - much less having them all make it to the NHL. I also have no illusions of seeing my kids make it to the show. I simply value the social and character building aspects of hockey and sports in general. Having my kids play hockey is a way of keeping them out of the malls and mostly out of teenage trouble (he says with fingers firmly crossed).

My two kids, heretofore referred to as the Boy and the Devil, have both been playing hockey since they were about 4 years old. Over the last 10+ years I have coached, guided, anxiously watched and cheered them through learn to skate, house league and rep level hockey now entering Minor Midget and Bantam age groups. Both have a love for the game inherited from their father. I actually stopped playing hockey when I was 15 primarily because of my diminutive stature, but also because I found Canada's other favourite past-time, curling, to be much more lucrative. No one ever gave me a clock radio, ratchet set or cash for winning a hockey tournament. But I digress and did get back into playing hockey in my late 20s as I started to introduce the game to my kids.

The 2009/10 season has just ended with a flurry as we've been at end of year tournaments in Mississauga and Brampton (about an hour from home) for the last three weekends. This translates into 13 games over 7 days, but could have been 17 over 9 days. Yup that's a lot of hockey after 2 forty game schedules, practices as least twice a week for each kid and three other tournaments each thrown in for good measure. So now that the season is over we have a whole week to rest before the tryouts for next season's teams start. A whole new season with new teammates, new parents, new coaches and above all new experiences.

As I start with this chronicle, my plan is to diligently and honestly record the events of the next year. I will also recount some of the hundreds of stories my kids, their teammates, coaches, parents, officials and others have left etched in the recesses of my memory. This is the other reason I want my kids to play the game. Hockey is a microcosm of life with all of the trials, tribulations, victories, defeats, politics and everything in between. They are living the life lessons and building the memories that will bolster their development as active members of society.

When I mentioned to the Boy that I was thinking of doing this he immediately started retelling one of his personal favourites...so why don't I start there. About three years ago we were in a tournament somewhere southwest of Toronto. Admittedly, after a while all of these tournament locations start melding together. At this particular tournament, our boys (Minor Peewee, I believe) had not played to their potential, but had made it to the semi-finals by the skin of their collective teeth.

In the semi-final game against an arch rival from East Gwillumbury the game was tied 2-2 at the end of regulation time. The format for breaking a tie was to be a 5 minute overtime of 5 on 5 hockey followed by 4 minutes of 4 on 4, 3 minutes of 3 on 3, 2 minute of 2 on 2 and yes, even 1 minute of 1 on 1 should it come to that. As it turns out we would be in a tournament with a similar format a couple of years later, but that is another story.

In this particular tournament, we went down to 3 on 3 for three minutes, but the Boy's team took a penalty so it would be 3 on 2. After a timeout, the Boy and a teammate stepped on the ice as our two representatives. I recall not quietly saying "Get my kid off the ice!" for fear of seeing him at least partially responsible for a potential loss. The teammate's father was standing right next to me and rolled his eyes in sympathetic agreement.

As luck would have it, the opposite turned out to be true. After winning a face-off at centre ice, three East Gwillumbury players charged hard into our zone, but the Boy somehow intercepted a pass and immediately went on the offensive. As his teammate darted forward he slipped a pass ahead and sent his teammate on a breakaway. His teammate made a fantastic deke leaving the goalie helpless and placed the puck in the back of the net. The teammates father and I high-fived and maybe even momentarily embraced in a combination of triumph and relief for our boys.

To be honest, I'm not sure how the Boy's team fared in the Finals of that tournament and in retrospect it really doesn't matter. That one shining moment is the memory the Boy can recall in a heartbeat that will last well beyond any trophy or medal won or lost. And I've only just begun.

imahockeydad