This week, I was having a hard time coming up with something to write about for this passion blog. Now don’t get me wrong, I have a list on my phone of more ideas than it will take to get me through the semester, and there are more floating around in my head. But none of them seemed right for this week. Sure, I could talk more about the strength of different development leagues. I could talk about the Olympics and the USA women’s first gold medal win in twenty years. I could talk about my opinions on hot topics, like outdoor games and fighting. Or something silly, like glow puck. While all of these are perfectly fit topics for the blog, and some will make an appearance later on, I just couldn’t bring myself to write about any of them.
So instead, I started thinking about why I’m writing this blog. I mean sure, it was required for RCL. But why on Earth did I decide last semester that I wanted to write 2,500 words about hockey? And then, why this semester did I sign on for 5,000 more?? I realized it was because I wanted somewhere, anywhere, to express and share my love for this sport.
I realized I needed a sounding board now that I was away from my dad. My dad is the reason I love this sport as much as I do. It was him who convinced me to go with him to Erie Otters games, and was thrilled when I finally started to actually pay attention to what was happening on the ice instead of only in the stands. It was he who patiently answered my questions, no matter how many times I asked the same ones. Hockey has been an integral part of my life since the 5th grade, when I finally focused on what was happening and fell in love with the game. So much of that is because of my dad.
And that is why I care about this “stupid game” so much. Because to me, this game means family. It means climbing into the car with my dad every home weekend, driving to my grandma’s to pick her up, and heading to the arena. Its walking up that steep flight of stairs to the very top, where we are free to move and stand as we please. Knowing that no matter what anyone else might say, we have the best seats in the entire arena. All the way up, attacking side, at the blue line. Its always knowing my seat, even now, with my grandma on my left and my dad to my right.
Its not having to talk to each other, but taking comfort in the silence and simply being in each others company. Its the high fives and after goal rituals that have formed and will never change. Dad first, a normal high five, and then to my grandma, where my hand will stay in between her’s as she claps a few times, what started as an accident but is now tradition.
Its the people who sit around us every game. Its knowing that while to many, the things I have just said makes little to no sense. But they understand, and have their own versions of this story. While we may not know their names or stories, we know that they are there, as are we, to sit and watch this game that means so much to us.
This game means family, and structure, and community, and tradition. This game means love.