The Goalie Years - My 5 years in Net

1985 was a good year.

I was, many many years ago, a hockey player. A goalie to be precise and while I only played for 5 seasons, I look back with great nostalgia on those days. I can remember strapping the pads on for the first time at age 12, nervous and scared, I could barely skate. Growing up as a bookworm who caught the hockey bug late will do that and wobbling out onto the ice, I probably spent more time on my ass than on my feet. But I was in love from the first scent of those musty, heavy leather pads and I persisted, getting back up every time. The first moment I took my place in the rectangle to guard the net is fresh in my mind and the whack of the puck as I made my first glove save brings a smile to my face even now.

That 1985/86 hockey season was eye opening for our whole family. We had been part of a 10 pin bowling league but were not prepared for the close knit and sometimes political minor hockey world. But for that first year, it was pure joy. Early morning Saturday games, snacks at the concession stand and a big lunch afterwards of fresh crusty buns and deli meat are the things I wish to recreate when I close my eyes and reminisce. Tournaments meant a weekend spent at the arena with the real treat for us kids, lunch or dinner at a McDonalds's, something that was very rare for our family back in those days. Car rides to the arena and spending time together when we didn't realise we'd eventually grow up and long for those easy days again are but two of the things I wish I could have realised. I know we lost more games than we won that first year, but I was dutiful in trying to get better. I turned to books for help and had a battered copy of legendary NHL goalie Jacques Plante's book that was my everything. His passion for the position was matched by my own and I will always be a fan for his knowledge and wish to spread it to anyone who wanted to improve.

My first team picture

I had been dropped down to a younger division in my first season because of my obvious lack of skill and figured to play the next year with my friends of the same age, but that was not to be. For whatever reason, a lack of goalies, my own bravado and confidence, I skipped right past the PeeWee (12/13) league and into the much tougher Bantam (14/15) division. Looking back, I think I must have been crazy, but it proved to be the greatest season of my very short career. 

Winning with these guys meant everything to 14 year old me.

It was on this team I encountered the man who would influence my later decision to coach and become a leader instead of sitting back. Sid Nelson was a brash, loud guy who was first and foremost a motivator of young men. He taught me about the psychology of the game, instilling a passion that forever remains with me. He believed in me, even when there were times I struggled to keep up with my older teammates or the stronger shots from the other team. One player in particular, Donny Sawchuk, took me under his wing and despite being a quiet young man, was fierce in his defense of his teammates and played with such vigor, I always tried to match him. When we won the two-game, total goal Championship 9-7, I remember being mobbed by my teammates and that feeling of being the best at something, even a house league champion, is with me, warm and happy, to this day.
Our sponsor was a father of one of the other players and when we went to their place for the end of the year party, he presented us with real Championship rings. I wore that proudly for many years and to my regret lost it during those tumultuous teenage misadventures I have spoken of before. I wish I could find it, it meant so much to me. But the memories persist so clear, that I will be happy with just them.
The next few years found me realising just how little skill I had. My heart was big, but my ability could not match it. Mom and Dad even sprung for the not inconsiderable cost of hockey schools, but it was pretty apparent that I was becoming more of a teacher than a player.

The Last season, Repping Hometown hockey

Two seasons removed from that glorious run to gold, I was part of the local Rep team, mainly because there were only two of us the proper age to be on the team and it was an eye opening experience to say the least. Representing Stoney Creek in a AA loop of southern Ontario communities was a moment of pride but also when I finally started to turn my eyes towards being behind the bench instead of the ice. At this level, I didn't play much, and my lack of talent made me wonder what I was doing wrong. My goaltending partner that season, John, was outstanding in net and off the ice. He gave me tips and tried to help keep my spirits up as the goals against mounted and my playing time decreased. Particularly memorable was our playing a team from Sweden, a tie game in which John stopped almost 50 shots and I came to the very real vision, sitting on the bench,  that I was not going to play hockey very much longer.
I finished the season out and even went to tryouts the next year, but the writing was on the wall. I had been pulled aside by those running the team to talk about my future. It was put to me that while I would be on the team because there were only two of us the right age again, if I would accept being cut, a younger but infinitely more talented goalie could be brought on board. I had already begun coaching and knew in my head they were right, I didn't belong on that team. But my heart wasn't so sure and I told them I'd think about it and hit the ice for practice. Skating around, taking in the scene and trying to fight back the tears I felt brimming in my eyes, I knew I was done as a goalie. I took my place in net and finished the day with a final stop that funny enough was a glove save. I remember dropping the puck on the ice and saying a silent goodbye to my dreams of making the NHL. Not that I ever really thought I would make it, but when you are a kid, dreams seem so real. I skated off the ice, never again to strap on those pads and guard my net with my body and soul. A little bit of my childhood died that final skate but it did lead me to what was to be my focus and all consuming obsession for the next few years.


My first Head Coaching job, the 1989 Penguins of Stoney Creek

 Becoming a Hockey Coach was so much more than I could have ever envisioned and for many years, it was the path I thought I'd never get off ; until life decided otherwise. But that's a story for another day.
Game on!

I Want to Believe this Christmas

Excited for Christmas, 1975

I have a recurring fantasy about Christmas. It doesn't involve presents or anything that can be bought. It doesn't require money or time and could bring hope to those who have been searching for the holiday spirit. It's a little radical and not where I thought I'd find myself at 43, but it has captured my heart.


I  wish to simply and truly believe in Santa Claus for a few hours on Christmas Eve.


I know it sounds silly but I don't care. If only for a short time, that pure anticipation, joy and sheer wonder were part of my life again; I couldn't imagine a better feeling. I can still catch flashes of what I felt when I was a young boy, waiting for Christmas to get here, hoping and praying that I had been good enough for the Big Guy to stop by and give me a present. But like I said, this isn't about stuff, it's about that feeling one more time.

Santa and I circa 1973

I want to feel like there is something good in an increasingly hard world. I want to sing the carols louder than ever before. I want to celebrate with an abandon only felt when you are a child. I want to watch the specials on TV with people who share popcorn, laugh or cry together and know all the lines. But most of all, I just want a break from being a grown up. I want a brief respite from the never ending worry, bills, work and constant motion my life has become. I want just a moment to believe in something so wonderfully magical that it makes my smile genuine, my hugs tighter and my joy unabashed.

I do my best to remain positive at this time of year. I see so many people struggle with the burdens we have come to believe we must carry to make Christmas perfect. From the parties to the presents, we have become encumbered with expectations of what this time of the year is supposed to be. Encouraged by the visions of perfection we see on traditional and new media, we are caught in a stream of worrying if we are doing enough or if we can ever measure up. This anxiety and strain over Christmas has become a bigger part of the season than ever before and I think it is time to say

  "Enough."

You are wonderful the way you are. Your family are what matter and however you choose to spend this holiday is the right way; regardless of what anyone thinks or says. Don't want to keep doing the same things every year, stop and do something new. Traditions had to start somewhere and if yours are not what you want, discard them and discover what makes you happy. The only thing that makes sense when you're unhappy is to seek a better way. There is not a rule saying you have to do anything because it is Christmas;
in fact I think the season is meant to be a celebration of all that is good in your life, your home and the world.

Late 1970's, take me back!

So this Christmas Eve I will look out the window and search for the sleigh. I will leave milk and cookies out with a note for Santa. I will have a hard time going to sleep because I will believe that I hear the reindeer up on the rooftop. I will let go of the resentments and fears that hold me back from the joy and happiness Christmas used to bring and I will embrace my inner Claus, whole heartedly and with everything I have.

I will believe in Santa, one more time.

Merry Christmas!

What Now?

You start off with the same milestones as everyone. People wait for you to roll over, sit up, walk and run. Then you go to school, get a job, get married, have kids, raise them, retire, be a grandparent and the cycle starts again.


What happens when you hit the one of these and stop?


I know that I am never going to retire, we are not having kids and I am increasingly unsure of what comes next.
My life has always had the next goal, the next achievement, the next chapter. Now I am a little lost because I sometimes wonder what I am working so hard for. Living to work is not what anyone wants to do, but when you have children, you do what is necessary to provide them with the best you can. When you are staring 30 more years in the eye and realising that at best you'll squeeze out 4 weeks vacation a year, you wonder why bother. What is the purpose of life if all it has become is the drudgery of day to day, month to month, year to year. Small things to look forward to are good, but when you are faced with decades more of 50 hour weeks and living on the fringes of what society has deemed normal, it weighs on you. Happiness is fleeting and we hold on dearly to anything that brings a moments respite from the exceedingly ordinary lives we lead.
I hear about folks without kids who go on grand adventures, leave it all behind and pursue a life that they choose. Sounds good, but it is not easy to leave behind the trappings of the regular life. What would I do for work? Where would we live? What about our extended, albeit slightly estranged. families? Will it actually be better? These things run through my mind as I think about just saying no to all I thought I wanted until very recently.
At 43, is it too late to start again?
I wish I had an answer. It has been haunting me for some time now as we move further away from having kids, I want to figure out who I am and where I want to be. I am certain that I was not meant to be 70 and struggling to live, working a full time job and just getting by every day. So many people live those desperate lives of work, eat, sleep, repeat and I don't want to become a drone who only stops working when I stop breathing. Following my passion is all well and good in theory, but a mortgage isn't paid in dreams and my partner in life cannot carry the load while I pursue something that may never become anything of value. Real life means the bills come in, you pay them and whatever is left over is what you can try to live on. We do better than most, we have more than enough food, clothes on our backs, a little fun now and then and a roof over our heads. This should be enough but I can't help but thinking there should be more. We shouldn't be locked down to some conformity that isn't real to us. We are not of the world that we expected and maybe it is time to explore the world we do not know.
Dreams stay just that unless you act on them, but what price is paid for pursuing them. I don't know that I will ever be brave enough to actually give voice to what I want. The internal struggle between what I thought was going to happen and what has happened is very real and I just want to find my place in the world. If I don't, will I lay there, 20 years from now, silently judging and hating myself because I was to cowardly to demand happiness. I know that I wish 20 year old me would have thought a little more about where we would end up because that guy was a seriously shortsighted individual. The pursuit of immediate gratification is my biggest regret and while I can do nothing about the past, I can do something about the future. I don't know where I will be a year from now, but as long as it is moving towards a goal I have set and made real, then I will at least have that.
 Life really is too short and when you start down the back forty of your existence, it is probably time to look at yourself and ask one thing:
"Are you happy?"
If the answer is no...well, maybe it's time you do something about it, because no one else is coming to bail you out or tell you what to do with your own life. This is when you make a choice and whatever that is, wherever that takes you, it is 100 % on you. No excuses, no regrets, no looking back. I know my time is coming and when I reach that fork in the road, I hope I choose wisely.

The Dark Veil

I don't know how it starts or even what causes it, but when that Dark Veil starts coming down, it is near impossible to stop it. Depression is different for everyone and for me it begins with an actual physical feeling of that heavy veil weighing down my eyes. It is a physical manifestation of the darkness that is coming. Unable to force it to stop, I can only try to anticipate it's duration and the consequences everyday activities will impose on my mind. Everything becomes open to the black hole that is the depression and I don't know how to lift it.

The light seem dim, eating loses its appeal and every conversation is littered with triggers that set me off. I almost feel like I step outside myself at this time and watch my downward spiral through a tinted lens. I know what is happening but am powerless to halt its progress. Leaden steps, heavy limbs and a feeling of dread fill every morning, afternoon and night. I have developed a very good act to use during these times and the smile on my face disappears as soon as you turn away. My laughter echoes in the emptiness of what used to bring me joy and even trying to carry a conversation takes more than I can bear. I can understand those people for whom their depression leaves them unable to even leave the house, I have to convince myself every day to get out of bed when I am covered by the Veil. Fear is a powerful motivator and when you have come close to losing everything, you can make yourself go to work, even when you can barely stand to brush your teeth in the morning. I am always worried there will come a day when I can't even talk myself into going in and that is not a day I am sure I can handle.

The only truth I know is that it will come back, again and again. My only weapon is my mind and when that is compromised by the Veil, I feel lost. A natural joy and its corresponding dread is the routine of life and when you feel alone, unwanted and unworthy, it is hard to see the light of a better tomorrow.
But still I prevail.
I remind myself that waking up each day is a victory. Each step on the walk to work, a triumph and the completion of a shift, success.
I have learned that the smallest of joys can begin to push the dark cloud away, but I am also aware that the tiniest miscue can clamp it down again. The balance is delicate and despite my thinking I know exactly what is happening, it still persists. Lasting sometimes only days but most often weeks at a time, I have little control over its duration.
Men are supposed to be tough, strong and silent. I have become so good at masking the desperate nature of my emotions and it is rare that anyone knows of the dark presence in my days. I either don't know or can't bring myself to ask for help and it is frustrating. I am constantly advocating for my friends and family who suffer from mental health issues to get help, but when it comes to my own problems, I am like a wounded animal. I do what I must to survive and retreat to the relative safety of my home as soon as I can.
And that is how I survive. One day at a time until I start to feel the Veil lift. Slowly and in stops and starts until one day I wake up and my smile is real, my step light and the day holding only promise. I try to keep that feeling as long as I can and try to remember it for the next time it begins to weigh down on my life.

World Cup? Not even close...

The World Cup of Hockey.

The very name evokes a global notion of sports competition and supremacy; And while I always cheer for Canada to do well on the world stage, this time feels a little hollow. The sport of hockey is almost exclusively dominated, in the last 10 years an6way, by the red and white of my home country and while it is good to win the game we claim to have invented, what is it we are winning? The talent gap is so large that this made for T.V., Toronto centric tournament had to cobble together two teams who have no host nation to call their own. The under 24 North American team was exciting and the Europeans have become the sacrificial lamb in the Gold Medal final with Canada, but how can we call it a world cup when we are unable to even ice 8 national teams that could be competitive. Outside of the Big 6 (Canada, Russia, USA, Finland, Sweden and the Czechs), no country can claim to have a chance of winning or even competing at this level.

Contrast that with the mind boggling, years long journey the 32 teams that make up the only real World Cup go through. Football (soccer for the North Americans) provides so much drama just to get out of the group stage and while its bloated bureaucracy and corruption threaten it long term strategies, the game itself is the true world sport and its champion can claim a legacy of winning its way to the top.

Contrast this with the ongoing World Cup of Hockey. The teams in the tournament do not earn their way in, some are made up and all are forced to play under NHL, not international rules. I am most assuredly not a Soccer fan, but I am fairly certain the rules don't change at the games highest championship. We dominate but it feels somehow less.

The Olympics, combined with the World Senior and Junior Championships are probably a better reflection of the game but it is still controlled by the same 6 teams and to be brutally honest, only Slovakia (in 2002) has broken that domination in over a century. How can we continue to get excited about being the best of 6 countries in anything. I love the gold medal feeling but this tournament is mislabelled and that could be a proper start to its legitimacy.

Bring back the true name of this tournament, The Canada Cup.

We are hockey and until someone can figure out how to level the playing field that will only change if someone gets very lucky. When we line up best on best, no one comes close to staying with us. Calling it the Canada Cup would once again serve notice that we bring the standard that other nations chase when it comes to the rink and despite their success and excitement, ditch the phony teams and let nations play their way in for the last 2 spots. It is Canada's game and I think it could be better if we bring back the original  name of the trophy and challenge the world to come and try to take it from us. It won't fix the gigantic talent gap or dwindling popularity of my favourite sport, but at least it will better reflect what this tournament should properly represent.
Just my two cents. 
Go Canada!

The Party

So many questions for this guy...

I'll be brutally honest, as always, and say that for an event that I've allowed to shape my life, I remember precious little about The Party. Lost in the mists of time and booze, many of my memories are clouded by what I've been told or think I recollect. The exact details of this life changing moment are never clear, but always there in my mind with one single word...Why?


Why did I stop caring about academics? Why did I turn my back on those who tried to help me? Why did I choose a life of struggle when I could have done so much more? Why did I reject everything I thought I wanted to be?


These are just some of the questions I ask myself when I look back and I have no answers. 43 year old me would love to help the confused 17 year old Rob to not make these errors in judgement, but I know in my heart I wouldn't listen to any reason. There are a myriad of examples of people trying to step in and help me back then and I rejected them all.


It all began on a March break in the early 90's. The family had left for a week and I was left home on my own because I was working and hadn't given my parents any reason not to trust me. I'm sure they suspected I would have a few friends over and maybe bend the rules a little, but nothing to the scope of what I did. As soon as they left, my friends descended by the dozens for a party that now seems to have stretched forever that week. Fuelled by teenage angst, I plowed through bottle after bottle of whisky, oblivious to the fact that we lived in a pretty tight neighbourhood and word of my misdeeds would no doubt get back to my parents. My nihilistic view on life at this time had plenty to do with it. I was losing interest at school, neglecting my studies with an a vengeance and not thinking of any future. I wanted nothing more than to party with my friends and be a "grown up". I put that in quotes because I had no idea what that meant, my arrogance making up for my lack of knowledge.
 I cannot tell you what happened, I see little snippets in my mind, but they are like ghosts in the works. Jack Daniels, pizza boxes and beer bottles litter the floor; a hazy smoke filled basement with hair metal blaring from the boom box and the feeling of this is how life should be linger in my memory as the week went on. I had no concept of what life really required of you, I couldn't do laundry properly or budget my money and yet I knew I was ready to take on the world. Such hubris is a common theme in much of my life since then and I struggle with those consequences to this day.
The Party itself was like a thousand other teenage parties before and after. Dumb kids get access to a place to let loose and someone has a friend who can buy them booze, mission accomplished on both points. While the exact events are not as important as what I did when my family returned, I really hope I had a good time because it was a long time before I felt happy again.
Knowing that I was deep into a whole world of hurt when Mom and Dad found out what I had done, I left before they got home. Long before cell phones, I cannot imagine their struggle to deal with what had occurred and my running away. Again, my memory is not clear on the details, but I know that I made a choice that week to throw away the plans I had been making since I was a young boy to go to university, become something bigger than myself and make a difference in the world. It wasn't a conscious decision, but it was one I made in anger, defiance and depression.
 I now know that I was struggling with anxiety and a darkness that had come down like a veil on my life. This was long before we encouraged young men that it was okay to be sad or express their feelings. You weren't supposed to show any weakness because that was a sign that you weren't man enough. I work hard today to change that not only for myself but for the young men I know.
 Part of my problem was that I was not getting the results I had in school when I was younger. Being labelled as "gifted" was a blessing at first, but as I levelled off and became part of the regular core of kids, I still yearned to be special. I imagine that if I had applied myself a little harder and worked on it, I could have achieved my lofty goals, but when the learning that came easily when I was young turned difficult, I was lost. Once again, I should have talked to someone, many people tried to talk to me, but I was building a wall that still hasn't come all the way down.
 The aftermath of that week long self indulgent, arrogant train wreck of life choice was years of wandering. I moved out and lived on friends couches for days or weeks at a time. Returning home many times, I attempted to go back to my life before, but couldn't stay straight for long. I dabbled in drugs but they never really did it for me. Alcohol was my fuel and it took many of my memories with it in its' wake. Things would be okay for a little while and then I would again begin raging against an imaginary slight and run away. This was my life for many years after and I think it is because my parents never closed the door on my return that I never truly was lost. I could cling to that happy memory and slowly I grew up...very slowly.
I eventually did finish high school, with a big assist to my Mom who made it her mission to see me graduate. I immersed myself in the local hockey association, coaching kids and walking away from the people I had partied with during those fateful years. Occasionally I would have a few beers, but it seemed I was moving away from those terrible days and had something bigger coming. But my self confidence had been shaken by my mistakes and despite an amazing offer to pay for my first years tuition from my Uncle Lyle and Aunt Cathy, I couldn't return to academia. Life was rounding into a form though and my time behind the bench seemed to be the path I needed to find to fix everything. I really thought I was bound for the NHL one day...
 This shows you how little I had learned, nothing is ever that easy and life was going to throw me a curveball once again. The next chapter of my life was both terrifying and amazing; Filled with memories that make me smile and cry, often at the same time...but that is something for another day.
 

Photographs

My favourite kind of photograph.



The older I get the more important photographs become. Most of my memories of events come from those photos themselves as opposed to actually remembering them. Its odd, but the further away I get from my childhood, the more I cling to those pictures as evidence of my life before now. Grainy 70's shots look odd and while I know intellectually that is me in the photo, I can't remember that particular moment or how I felt. I'm not sure when that started to happen to me but it seems to be the norm as I get older.

My childhood is commemorated by a lot of photos, especially when we are little. Captured moments of unscripted joy, unhurried lives and a bright future. At play, formal for those family events when we'd be dressed up and looking our best or just hanging around the house; we have documentation that we were there, we existed and those things happened. Moving into my teenage years, they become less frequent because I wasn't around as much and we had started the inevitable moves into our own orbits with friends, lovers and lives. There are many years where there are just a handful of photos with me in them because I was off on my own journey and that did not include a lot of pictures. I wish I could find more from when I was 17 to 25 but I am not certain that many exist.

The advent of an affordable digital camera and subsequent improvements in cell phone technology has led to an explosion of pictures, good and bad, and it has made accessing those memories easier because we are always snapping shots.

I love to peruse Facebook or Instagram and see the pictures of my extended family and friends' and their ever growing brood. Time and distance has made it difficult to actually spend time with some of those people, so those cute shots on the Internet are my window into their lives. I have become a fan of taking a few shots myself with all my craft beer pictures, but it's become far more than beer that has captured my eye. I see the world in a new light because I am always looking for a unique way to show off the bottles in my collection and that in turn has led to my seeing things I've never noticed before and my camera finds them too.

. The digital revolution means my life in the last 10 years has far surpassed its documentation through photos than in the previous 30. I can look at my memories with the click of a button and there are times when I get lost for hours going through the albums on my computer reminiscing about days gone by. It's easier to catch a whisp in time now because we have such easy access to a way to do it and I am thankful for that. These pictures tell a story and the more we have, the better that story gets.

Copying Papa at Christmas time



Remembering Wingnut, our pet chicken

Not many photos exist from these days.

Mall Santa in the early 80's...a little creepy...

I got nothin'

 

My brothers and I, 1996

One of the best days.

Grampa and I would never get to share a beer, but I have this moment forever.