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Way… Way… Back…
The old man was in a really bad mood today for some reason.
Normally he had the demeanor of a pissed off grizzly looking for a meal.
Today he acted as though he were a giant hornet’s nest and I smacked him with a stick.
For the record - that was Leon.
Also for the record - his style made me a better hockey player.
My dream of becoming a pro hockey player and making a lot of money felt closer by the day.
And the first thing I wanted to do with my first real check?
Buy Leon anything he wanted.
A new house? Some kind of obnoxious fancy car? Season tickets to any hockey team across the world?
Whatever he wanted.
Because at the end of the day, Leon did not need to be doing this for me.
He wasn’t my father. He wasn’t my grandfather. He wasn’t family. He wasn’t blood related to me.
He took me under his grumpy wing for some reason and because of that I knew I-
“What the hell are you doing? Daydreaming over there? Did you not get enough sleep, huh? Christ almighty. Kids these days. I’ll tell you…”
Leon let out his famous growl and skated across the ice.
He grabbed a thermos and moved toward me really fast.
The old man didn’t look like he would have half the skills he had on ice skates.
But he could move.
Fast. Mean.
He could stare at you as he skated and it could make you fall.
He came from a different generation of hockey and hockey players.
A time when the guys did not wear much of anything in terms of protection.
No helmets.
No pads.
Goalies were lucky if they had that cliché white hockey mask, if at all.
Fights were fights.
Pucks to the face were a rite of passage.
Missing teeth were just part of the job.
Leon slammed the thermos against my chest.
