I am a super proud hockey mom. (And, yes, I will say it in a Sarah Palin voice while I dream of big hair.) I love that my son has chosen to play hockey. It’s expensive and time-consuming, but I love hockey. Some sports I am loath to watch. (I’m looking at you, baseball. I will do my Michigander duty and cheer for the Tigers, but please don’t make me sit through a full game. I do not have the patience for that.) Back in the day, I played in my college’s pep band. It’s basically an excuse to follow the hockey team around and spend a few glorious days in the Joe Louis Arena once a year (if the team does well.) Hockey will always be my favorite because of all the good memories I have of enjoying the sport with friends. (Obligatory comment about how Tech still sucks. 😉 )
So, when Robert got in to hockey, I started dreaming big. Someday he might play for my alma mater! Maybe if he’s motivated he’ll go pro! Maybe he’ll just play until he ages out of peewees and then be content to watch the Wings on TV with me! It’s all pretty exciting for me, regardless of where he goes with this.
When it’s game or practice time, I love watching my son on the ice but I am definitely not one of those crazy parents that you hear about on the news for jumping the boards and sucker punching an eight year old. I am just happy if he stays on the ice, doesn’t wander too much, and doesn’t get bored and just lay down.
I want him to have fun learning the game. Right now, I am not quite sure he understands the point of hockey. (See picture above.) He does an awful lot of meandering. He leisurely skates around the cluster of activity around the puck. While the other little kids are scrambling to jab at the puck, my kid is basically picking daisies in the outfield, if you will forgive my mixing of sports analogies.
But, he comes off the ice with a smile and that’s what matters the most.