Sunday, Feb. 28, we watched the USA Hockey team take it to Canada -- all the way into overtime. Non-hockey fans don't realize what a big deal that was. USA Hockey fans only wish Sid the Kid had held out just a few more minutes. Had this been a tournament with different scoring systems, the US may have won that Gold Medal. In typical tournament play, a win gives you a point, a loss gets you nothing, but a win in overtime gets you two points and a loss in overtime gets you one. Given that math, the fact that we beat Canada once (they are still stinging from that) and then tied it to go into Overtime says to me it was really a draw. Way to go USA!
Of course, the reality is that all the players in the Olympic Gold Medal game were NHL players who spend most of their time here in the U.S. Sydney Crosby who scored the winning goal for Canada plays for Pittsburgh, Brendan Morrow plays here in Dallas, I could go on and on.
Hockey may be Canada's game, but for those of us who love it, we're sure glad it's big here in the U.S. too.
Sunday, just minutes -- literally -- after the US won the silver medal, my son and his team stepped onto the ice to go for their own win. It was Senior Recognition Night, so we parents got a minute in the spotlight too. This pic is our oldest son, Tanner with his proud parents. He's been playing hockey since he was old enough to pick up a stick -- banging real pucks against the baseboards in my kitchen, sliding around on his stocking feet on the hard wood floors, telling anyone who ventured in during his "games" to "get off the ice!"
We were on vacation in San Diego once and went to a minor league game. Sitting in the front row, we listened to a four year old Tanner bragging to another little boy that he had a rink in his house. That kitchen was his rink, and he was serious about it. We got him on the ice at the University rink near our home in Boulder when he was five, and we waited anxiously for the call from Boulder Valley Hockey to tell us they had a place available for him on a Squirt (or is it Pee Wee) league. In the meantime, while we waited, he played roller hockey and had a ball.
A lot of time has passed. Lots of roller, lots of ice. Flash forward 14 years, and he's still playing hockey as often as he can. He'll leave for college in the fall and play hockey there. The biggest difference: I won't get to watch every game. He's planning to go more than 1000 miles away to Colorado -- his home state. He's been wanting to get back there for years, and now he has his chance.
Standing on the ice the other night, it started to hit me. My days as a hockey mom, getting up at 3:30 a.m. to make sure I am showered and awake enough to drive him to practice, are about to end. I won't be spending 12-15 hours a week either in the car on the way to/from hockey or in the stands, bundled in a blanket, at a hockey game.
I'm going to miss hockey. I'm going to miss my fellow hockey moms and dads, some whom I've known for years. I'm going to miss the other kids. I'm even going to miss the alarm going off at 3:30 a.m. Most of all, I'm going to miss my son. A lot. It's really starting to hit me.
Maybe he really wants to go to community college and stay at home for a year...or two...when he gets home today, or on the way to hockey tonight, I think I'll ask him.
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