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As I drive, I continue to think about Alissa and Emily and I’m rethinking what the future holds for me, for us.
Do I really want to continue with the demanding lifestyle of being in the NHL or am I ready to be a family man who is around and available?
I’m reminded of previous comments from other players who express regret over missing their kid’s milestones, like soccer games or plays.
I don’t want to just juggle Emily and Alissa. I want them to be my priority. I missed out on the first five years of Alissa’s life. I don’t want to miss out on anymore.
I’m starting to realize the NHL is not my main priority anymore, and I need to figure out what that means exactly.
I park the car in the garage and run through the whole house looking for dad.
All I find of him is the remnants of a quick lunch in the kitchen. I peek inside his trophy room, which is a mix and match of his hockey days, and what he expects to be glory days in golf.
His golf bag is on the floor, and a few clubs are out. Deducing where he is, I head for the deck outside and find him practicing shots under the sun over the lawn.
“Dad!” I shout, calling for his attention, and interrupting him mid-swing. “How’s practice going?”
“I’m shit at this, son,” he realizes with a sigh, and I can’t help but snort at his exasperated expression. “Might as well just keep on collecting clubs.”
I get down from the deck and walk toward him, “Where’s the John who taught me to never give up?”
“Eh,” he leans the club against his hip. “If golf was played on skates, I’d have a chance.”
“I have something to tell you, dad.” I begin, becoming solemn. I place a hand on his shoulder to let him know that the subject is serious.
“Don’t tell me you really asked the Mitchell girl to marry you?” he raises an eyebrow.
“I did,” I admit, feeling the weight of my disappointment. “She said no. Well, I’m hoping it’s more of a ‘not yet’ but that’s not all.”
I take a deep breath, thinking about the best way to tell him.
“You always wanted a granddaughter, right?” I ask, watching him closely to see his reaction.
It doesn’t take long for the penny to drop.
He drops the club and shakes me by the shoulders. “I told you, didn’t I?”
Yeah…” I start walking back to the deck. Dad picks up his club and follows me. “Alissa will take a while to get used to it, but I’m ready to wait.”
“That's wise.” He pats my back. “Are you asking for a DNA test, just to be sure?”
“No!” I reply, deeply vexed. “You said it yourself, the math works, and I trust Emily. Plus, baby girl looks like me, doesn’t she?”
I feel like melting butter, soft and easily malleable. I don’t know why I am so proud of Alissa, since I’ve barely known her and had nothing to do with her upbringing, but I am.
“Told you she does.” Dad pats me on the back. “Are you hungry? I had a grilled cheese. I can make you one.”
“Nah,” I sit in one of the lounge chairs on the deck. “Had lunch at Emily’s.”
He takes a seat by my side but doesn’t lean back. Instead, dad keeps on swinging his golf club, trying to adjust his grip.
“You need to bring the little girl here; I also want some grandpa love,” he laughs.
“I’m thinking about dinner tomorrow, before I leave for the next game,” I say.
Then I turn back to him. “Um, dad?”
“Yes, Andrew?”
