The kids are quiet, processing this.
“So what should you have done?” one of them asks.
“I should have stepped between them. Should have told the guy to back off. Should have made it clear that kind of talk wasn’t okay. And when he didn’t listen, I should have gotten security to remove him.” I look at each of them. “What I shouldn’t have done is put my hands on him. Because now I’m suspended, fined, and stuck doing community service instead of playing hockey.”
“Is that why you’re here?” the kid in my jersey asks.
“Yeah. Part of my punishment is teaching you guys not to make the same mistakes I did.”
“That’s kind of cool, though. Getting to meet you because you screwed up.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Sure. Cool. Let’s go with that.”
We spend the next two hours running drills. I show them how to read plays, how to position themselves, how to anticipate what the other team’s going to do. They’re good kids - enthusiastic and willing to learn. They also ask questions that actually make me think about the game differently.
And that’s when I realize it. I’m having fun.
This doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like something I’d want to do anyway.
During a water break, I notice Noah watching from the boards. He’s talking to one of the parents, but his eyes keep drifting back to the ice. Back to me.
When he catches me looking, he doesn’t look away. Just raises an eyebrow like he’s asking a question.
I shrug, like I don’t know what the question is.
He shakes his head and goes back to his conversation.
By the time the clinic ends, the kids are exhausted and I feel better than I have in days. The kids line up for autographs, and I sign every jersey, every stick, and every piece of equipment they shove at me.
The kid in my jersey is last in line.
“Thanks for coming,” he says. “Even if it was because you got in trouble.”
“Thanks for listening. Even though I’m sure you’ve heard this stuff before.”
“Not from someone who actually did it.” He looks up at me, serious. “My dad’s right, though. You are kind of a hero. Just maybe not the way you thought you’d be.”
Well, shit. Then he skates off before I can figure out how to respond to that.
Noah walks over to me. “That went well.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am surprised. I expected you to spend three hours complaining about being here.”
“Why would I complain? These are good kids.”
“They’re kids who just watched you admit you made a mistake and explain why it was wrong. That’s not easy to do.”
I look at him. He’s watching me with that same intense expression from the conference room, like he’s trying to figure something out.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just... you’re good with them. Better than I expected.”
“Again with the low expectations,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
“Can you blame me? You assaulted someone a few days ago.”
