Since 2010, the season preceding the Blackhawks’ first Stanley Cup in a generation, my son has been smitten with hockey. He started ‘late’ as some kids go, since he didn’t learn to skate until 5 years old, but he’s had more success than most over his near-decade of playing.
Four state titles and two league titles. For five seasons he made the top team, three of those years that team was not just the top at his organization, but also the top in the nation. This year he’s been made captain, a responsibility he takes very seriously. He commiserates with his alternate captains (not assistant, but alternate- this is HOCKEY), and strategizes with his coaches. He strives to set an example and, I’ve been told, is the consummate teammate. Selfless, hardworking and humble in all things.
He’s met hall-of-famers and been coached by some of the best. He’s quit sport after sport – not because he didn’t have time, but because no other sport brought him the absolute and total joy that he feels on the ice (his words, not mine). He was measuring all other sports against the fun he was having with hockey, and nothing else compared, it wasn’t even close. His friends are his teammates, his study is the car, his weekends are tournaments, and his bedtime is still earlier than many his age because chances are he has a game or practice tomorrow.
For the past 9 hockey seasons, my life has been filled with, “We can’t, there’s hockey this weekend.” But we appear to be looking at the end of the road.
Why now? Why are we mentally preparing for the end when he is still so ardently in love? Well, he isn’t growing. He’s a second-year bantam, and if you don’t know, that means full contact. He’s 14 years old (14 and-a-half really) and only 5’1” and 102 pounds. When he was cut from that top team, it was after they had moved him from his preferred position to one he’d never played before because they were looking to “go bigger” on defense. All the 14-year-old defensemen on that team are 5’7” and 140+.
There have been many discussions with folks that end with another reassuring us that "he’ll get there; he’s just a late bloomer; his parents are tall, and eventually he’ll grow." These aren’t hockey parents. Hockey parents don’t try to comfort. They know. If he grows late, he’ll be left behind. They smile wistfully and nod sympathetically because they know. Other kids are in the weight room, but lifting pre-puberty can stunt one’s growth – which we certainly don’t need!
In less than a month, this season is over. Next year, if he doesn’t grow, who knows if he'll play. He won’t be able to play High School (Against 6’ tall 18-year-olds) because no coach in his right mind would risk that liability.
So, when he’s no longer a hockey player, what will he be? Well, thankfully, he’s got a bevy of other interests that really haven’t been explored, so maybe he’ll be a musician (he plays piano) or a scientist. He’ll read, and write and draw and strategize and tell jokes and ride his bike.
Being a hockey player was big for him, but what being a hockey player taught him will continue to be big for his future. He worked and sacrificed for his team. He learned to work with people he didn’t necessarily like, and take direction from adults he didn’t necessarily agree with. He learned to lose with grace and more importantly, win with compassion. He learned the importance of attitude, and the impact that can have on your performance. He became a coachable kid, and his classroom teachers say it shows.
Once we read an article about the man who was attending his son’s last hockey game. The boy was giving up competitive hockey to attend university. My son had once dreamed of doing both. Because he’s on the far right of the IQ curve, he wondered about playing for the Ivy League and sported a Harvard Hockey sweatshirt at 8 years old. We are faced with attending our son’s last competitive hockey game, not of his choosing, and how we navigate this next year will make a difference.
Our hearts break with every doctor visit when once again, he hasn’t grown. Our hearts ache as we hear from coaches how well he plays “for his size.”
When we say goodbye to this sport, to the rink, it will be bittersweet. Like watching our son’s first heartbreak. His first love is being snatched away by a bigger, stronger kid. But we will always remember the joy it brought, and be grateful for the smiles.
