I'm an Ice Hockey Mom

“My name is Julie, and I’m an ice hockey mom.”

It is true and laughable. Who knew that being born merely 137 kilometres (85 miles) north of the equator and having lived +/- 20 years in hot and humid Singapore would make me embrace a sport that would subject me to the cold for extended periods? This is the same kid who grew up feeling nervous about taking nightly showers because at the back of her mind, she would hear her mother’s warnings about catching a chill and thereby suffer rheumatism at old age (which would be anytime now).

I spent all late autumn through winter this season exposed to the relentless upstate NY cold but was never alone and always with other die-hard ice hockey parents. Evidently absent were rheumatism-savvy Asians.

I did no cheering in the beginning. Perhaps lots of cursing under my breath on days when standing in Corning’s dilapidated outdoor rink in 15-20 degree F. weather, coupled with wind chill, would burn right through my 3 layers of hand wear (cashmere glove, silk lining glove and wool fingerless glove) and thick soled leather shoes. I couldn’t muster a cheer but spontaneous clapping would occur mainly to keep my hands warm. I wasn’t there for the game; I was only there so that my kid knew that I was being a supportive parent. And also so that I could criticize his playing when he got home. Ah, the joys of being a pretend ice hockey parent.

Ice hockey was a natural progression when we returned to frigid upstate NY for my kids who started roller blading in Taichung, Taiwan when they were wee 4.5 and 3years of age (Sean and Monique, respectively). But travel ice hockey was a whole different ball game. We weren’t nearly as prepared for this level of commitment. Sean was training 3-4x a week, the weekends were always packed with at least 2 games; some were home games and others were(at most) 2.5 hrs drive out of town. I didn’t always attend the games at the start but the hubs noticed that the times I did, Sean would try harder on the ice. That was enough reason for me to show up and play the part of hockey mom.

My kid.

Watching his team on the ice was always exciting and it was my conversion process. These kids are skilled and nimble footed. And when contrasted with their bulky body gear and full face helmet, makes the game quite interesting. Ice hockey is not about brute strength – although at pro-level, the on-rink fights are brutal, if not, gratuitous. One of Sean’s team member, a praying mantis sized girl who is all body armour and helmet on the ice, is possibly the best skater on the team. She is swift, sure-footed, and holds her ground against boys tons bigger and taller than herself. Watching her back skate while defending the goal post makes my heart sing. Whoever said ice hockey was only for boys obviously hasn’t seen this lithe girl on the ice. She’s convinced me to want the same for Monique and Sophia.

The only girl on Sean's team --sure footed and steady against bigger opponents.

Our lives during ice hockey season were a complete whirlwind. Our Saturdays and Sundays would whizz by and I’d pick up the pieces (chores) during the week just in time for another weekend of ice hockey mayhem. As chaotic as it was short lived, the week after the season wrapped up, the hubs and I landed on our feet, disheveled and disoriented, we went back to our predictable weekends but missing every second of the insanity.

I received an email just the other day, well weeks after the season, from a parent with 4 ice hockey kids too who took the thoughts right out my head, “I’m still cold. But being cold watching Little League is far less exciting than being cold at an ice hockey game.”

I completely understood.