The Start of Hockey Season

It's upon us, and it's bad. Sunday's public ice was hit early with three scruffy looking Hockey Dads roughing up their kids in new hockey skates. I don't know why Figure Skating Moms get such a bad rap when Hockey Dads are just as bad, if not worse. A figure skating mom wouldn't cheer a bloody nose as a rite of passage, much less inflict one by intentionally checking their skater. Figure Skating moms are continually chided against "acting as coach," yet Hockey Dads are pretty common at these antics. They also think it's perfectly fine to send a fully suited up pre-teen with a hockey stick onto a public session, tearing through the center ice with abandon, cheering him on as he threatens to trip every figure skater in sight.

Carving up the ice? Oh, yes. Please do that. And yes, please literally toss your child across the ice. This is the best idea ever. Nothing delights me more than a seven year old boy in his exoskeleton being sent face first under someone else's waltz, by his father no less. Skating in shorts? Absolutely. Spitting on the ice? A+ behavior. Learning to skate in Goalie Skates? Best.

Due to late arrival of the Guards, Stitch got the honor of setting out the cones. Stitch did a little dancing, but he tired quickly. The New Kitten has been keeping him awake at night, which is kinda funny for Dad and me. I was doing my crossovers and going backwards to try and get used to the feeling of rapid backwards movement. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was, even when I stopped looking at my feet to watch Stitch dance. I gave Stitch some money for vending, and when he didn't come back in a reasonable amount of time I went to go check. He couldn't figure out why the coffee machine wouldn't give him a dollar's worth of sugar. I had to explain that the sugar came in a beverage, not as a stand alone item.

I went back out while Stitch ate the puzzling combination of Doritos and mocha. I had figured out how to do the fast scooter pushes like the kids do, trying to get over my fear of my toepicks. I was doing fine until I hit a hole carved by one of the hockey dads, tripped, couldn't recover, and rolled forward into an easy fall on my hip.

Rink Pal saw the whole thing and few to the rescue, but none was needed. After all that drama over fear of falling, I did it and I was fine. Better than fine, because I tried a crossover or two and my mind didn't freak out. I even went right back to digging in my toepicks. Done. I even got up by myself. I may have this skating thing licked yet. I always feel like I'm throwing my leg out sideways instead of back on forward stroking,
though.

Wednesday is Lessons again, this time hopefully with Gordon. I'm curious to see what happened there over the summer.