A Dad's Pride

My son will celebrate his 18th birthday this week. The other evening I looked back and reflected on his journey from a new born to an extraordinary, intelligent, compassionate and responsible young man. But what I remember most about him was the very first word he spoke. Not “mama” or “dada”, but “baw.” Yes, the first clear and concise word that passed through his lips had to do with a ball and I knew from that moment on, he was the jock of the family.

We played catch as fathers and sons do and his pitching arm was strong and accurate and more incredible he was ambidextrous. Yet, when he played baseball later on, he opted for the position of catcher for that was where the action was. He played indoor and outdoor soccer, basketball, skiing and even wrestled for a time. But what I remember most of all was his love of the game of inline hockey.

His first foray into the sport came around the age of 5 or 6. He had never skated before he laced on his first pair of roller blades, but it seemed like second nature as he glided around the rink. In no time he was skating backward, starting, stopping and changing direction without difficulty. He wasn’t a speed demon like some of the other kids, but he coupled his brain with brawn to keep up with them.

In those days the Pee-Wee league didn’t utilize goalies instead placing three orange construction cones in the crease to make the saves. However, in the final game, the championship game, the rules required a goalie to be in place. Donald, although the leading scorer of the team, stepped up to fill the position as no else wanted anything to do with it. Undaunted and certainly not intimidated, he faced the opponent without the luxury of the protective gear afforded a goalie. When the game was over, he skated away with his first trophy - one of many that would sit on the shelf at home.

He began league play when he was eight as a forward or defenseman until one day a goalie was needed in a practice session. He felt that this was the position for him and he finished out the season learning how to make it as a goalie. At the end of the season, his team disbanded and he was asked to play with a group of inexperienced players. He accepted the challenge and although the team had difficulties, he was happy. Most teams sign up for a league as a team and play together for years. Those signing up without a team are randomly assigned to teams without regard to their level of experience. Donald was called upon to play with these teams whose players had negligible experience or exposure to the game to even out the odds. He enjoyed working with these inexperienced players and assisting them in gaining pleasure from the game even though he was facing 45, 50 and even 60 shots on goal per game..

His services were always in demand. On Saturday mornings, he was always approached by at least one coach requesting that he sub for missing goalie. Teams heading for a tournament asked him to play in place of their regular goalie. He earned the nickname “Teflon Don” from his teammate’s Dads for his miraculous and spectacular saves. He considered no part of his body sacred and even used his head to keep a flying puck from lighting the lamp. Once, in a melee in front of the net, he lost both his stick and blocker pad. Undisturbed, he jumped to his feet and continued play until six or seven shots later the whistle brought action to a halt. He received a standing ovation not only from his fans, but from all witnessing the act of courage.

Yet, like a place kicker in football, a goalie’s life is lonely and the job often thankless. At the top of his game, he receives the accolades; winless streaks turn the cheers to jeers. But a goalie is only as good as the players in front of him and when you can no longer count on your teammates for support, a change is necessary for the good of the soul. The young man decided to take a leave of absence from the game for awhile.

He often talked about playing again, but never made a serious effort. So, I really wasn’t all that surprised when he called me one day in December telling me he was going to make the tryouts for his high school team. He offered no explanation, nor did I seek one because I could see the cogs and wheels turning in his head. With the exception of a brief stint at wrestling in his freshman and part of the sophomore years, he had been voraciously hitting the books earning a G.P.A. of somewhere in the vicinity of 3.9. While the jock had transformed into an academic, it was now time to have some fun. He confided in me that he was probably not good enough to make the Varsity, but the C-Team would be just fine with him.

So, this past Saturday he played in a tournament. This would be the first games in over five years. I wasn’t able to attend the first game that morning, but he played for the JV and was pulled after six goals and the Varsity goalie came in and allowed two goals in a few minutes. Under the mercy rule, the game was called 8-0.

The next game began at 8:00 P.M. that evening. It didn’t take long for the opponents to have their way with the C-Team. It was like old times. No offense; no defense. Lackluster performance. 8-0 the final score. I had no idea how the young man would feel. In all his years playing, he had never fell to the mercy rule. Hell, he used to be upset if five goals were scored against him.

He came out in between games to talk with his Mom, Step dad, Sister and me. But I detected in him something I had never seen before. Here stood head and shoulders above me a new young man, mature and relaxed, calm and cool. He made no excuses and brushed away any that I might have made for him. He knew he blew some plays, but more importantly he had had praise for his teammates. They were green, but they only had three practices together. They would gain experience and play better. He took it all as part of the game.

The second game proved to be a bit more lively and his team provided more support. They began to listen to their goalie as he tried to position them. They congratulated each other on good plays and consoled each other on the bad. The goalie improved and I could tell he was just having fun. Although one could not tell by the score, the “Teflon Don” had returned. Breakaways were stopped and once on a 3-0 on the goalie it took three shots before the opponents scored. The C-Team lost 7-0, but in regulation time with no mercy rule.

It was almost midnight when the final game began. As the puck was dropped at center rink, you could sense a difference in the team. The C-Team immediately gained control and the first five shots were on the opponents goal. No scores, but a sense of urgency prevailed. They played well, but a few times let up resulting in a four goal deficit at the end of the first period. They didn’t bury their heads in the sand and I don’t know what was said to them during the coach’s pep talk at half-time, but they came out for the final period looking for vindication.

They scored a goal and having tasted blood for the first time were ready for more. They attacked the opponents goalie time after time, twisting him one way, turning him another, hacking, swatting, slashing at the puck until it was again behind him and in the net. The C-Team rejoiced and high fived and no one applauded them more than their own goalie. And he responded with a perfect performance throughout the period, blocking shots with any part of his body that he could get close to the puck. He encouraged his team on, giving them the pointers they needed. They gave him protection. They were a team

The C-Team scored again and a tie was within their grasp. They played with an intensity I don’t believe that they even knew was within them. They came so very close, inches away, on two occasions, but failed to cash in. The final horn blared and they went down in defeat 4-3. They lost the game, but gained a whole lot of pride. They’ll have a great season.

This night will be firmly entrenched in my mind and my heart for as long as I live. The three defeats will eclipse all his previous victories. I’m proud that he is my son, but even prouder for who he has become.