by J. D. Collins/ © 1999 All Rights Reserved by J. F. Clennan, Esq.
Even the breeze blew dry heat in our faces that hot Fourth of July
Day. How did the nine year old Half-Pint and I end up at a Skating Rink ?
Everything else was shuttered with a note, "Gone Swimming." The sign on the
highway "Air-Conditioned and Open" must have been inviting as the heat fogged
up the windshield and Half-Pint groaned. He rarely said much.
My sweat was just starting to freeze when I finished tying
Half-Pint's rented skates. Freckles danced devilishly on his face as I told
him to wait for me. "You've never done this before... Do you know how to
stand on the ice."
I turned to lace up my skates and looked around startled. "Where's
Half-Pint ?"
A lone sweeper chuckled, "He's out on the ice dancing with the
Dinosaur."
"Dancing with what ?"
"The owner of the hockey school dresses up and goes out on the ice
with the kids..."
I stood up and looked beyond the glass enclosures that shielded the
precious ice, there was Half-Pint cavorting with a yellow breasted, green
scaled lizard while some 10 or 15 other half pints looked on.
I raced out to center ice. Half way across, I tabulated the number
of years since I had skated. Did I know how to stop ? What was keeping me
up ? I need not have worried. The Dinosaur had caught me.
"Your boy skate much ?" the Dinosaur asked.
"First time, far as I know."
"Ain't bad. Should sign him up for Hockey School." Bowing
gracefully to speak to Half-Pint, the Dinosaur promised, "I have a Half-Pint
League just for Half-Pints."
"Hockey !" Half-Pint declared with a beaming grin. I was pleased
that Half-Pint had talked.
By the end of the skating session, I had enrolled Half-Pint in the
school and was off to the pro shop where a crusty bald man growled a warning,
"Hey, Half-Pint, you're looking at the goalie stuff."
Decked out with pads and blocker and glove, Half-Pint looked like a
stubby high pressure fire hydrant. I looked at the bill. "... This is no
ghetto sport." I declared.
Many parents find that major decisions made spur of the moment lead
to disappointments, but Half-Pint never squawked about Hockey School. He was
up before sunrise without even his usual groan to brush his hair and make a
semblance of an effort at carting his 5 stone (70 lb) bag to the car, and to
pester me to watch the weekly Friday tournament staged for parents.
In the Half-Pint League the Dinosaur took the ice to act not just as
the referee. Whenever Half-Pint stopped too many shots the Dinosaur would
chase him away from the goal and occasionally kick the puck in during his
waltz.
"Keeps the scoring up... Parents sign up for extra weeks," the
dinosaur told me confidentially on the sidelines.
Toward the end of the summer, the Dinosaur advised, "Half-Pint's
ready to play in the Advanced League, if that's okay with you."
And Half-Pint eagerly greeted the opportunity.
"The bigger kids will light you up like a pinball machine..." I
cautioned biting my lip.
An eager determined smile was all Half-Pint gave as a reply.
As the cool breezes of autumn started to chase summer off, Half-Pint
practiced his drills off the ice in the driveway until the sun faded away.
At the Friday Tournament, Half-Pint charged onto the ice to take up
his position. The Dinosaur paused to give Half-Pint an encouraging pat
before skating away and off the ice. What followed was a 15-4 rout. To his
credit, Half-Pint did have four saves on a play before the defence entirely
buckled.
Yet the decision was inevitable. The Dinosaur told me, "If you sign
him up in the fall, it'd have to be in the Half-Pint League."
I worried how Half-Pint would take the news. An hour passed.
Half-Pint had not emerged from the locker room, and when I entered he was
still in full regalia with a jersey dripped in sweat.
"I think," Half-Pint groaned, "I like to chase the Dinosaur."