Page 59 of Love Me Boldly

“Hey kid, what’s your name?”

“Jonah, sir. It’s Jonah.”

“Cool name for a cool kid.”

He grinned at me. “My mom used to love whales.”

I chuckled as the connection hit. Odd thing to name a kid over, but whatever. “All right, Jonah.” I tapped my stick to his and skated in front of the goal. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Immediately, I saw his weakness. Jonah might have been able to pass and dribble the puck well for his age, but shooting was his downfall. He either pulled up too soon so the puck hit the tip of his stick or he dropped his back shoulder, hitting the puck on the stick’s heel. It didn’t matter how many times we tried, how much I coached him, he just couldnotget his body to stay in the right position long enough to hit the puck toward the goal with any good strength of direction.

“You’ve got this, Jonah. You can do it.”

He squinted and gripped the stick harder.

I passed the puck to him.

He pulled back…and dropped his shoulder. The puck went five feet to the right of the goal. Not even close.

He dropped his head toward the ice and skated to the back of the line, dragging his stick behind him like he’d cost his team the college championship game.

“Hey, Luke!” I called out another coach’s name. His son was now playing in the minor hockey league along with Tanner on opposing teams. “Can you take over?”

He was at the water coolers on one of the team’s benches and didn’t have a group of kids around.

“Just for a minute?”

“You got it.” He downed a plastic cup of water, tossed it to the floor and grabbed his helmet and stick.

I went off to grab Jonah from the back of the line.

“Come here, Jonah.” I steered him away with my hands on his shoulders, pushing him toward an open area on the ice before he could argue. There was something about that sad face he made I couldn’t shake.

The dejection in it, like if he wasn’t good enough to score, he sucked at everything, and that simply wasn’t true. For one, he was six, for crying out loud. But man, it made my heart squeeze tight.

Maybe this was the downfall of teaching kids how to play the game versus coaching kids who thought they were all the best. There wasfailurein learning.

Without the stress of other players around the pressure to score a puck, I dropped my stick to the ice and skated behind Jonah. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

I walked him through the movements, keeping my hands on his arms and shoulders while he practiced shooting. “It’s just like passing,” I reminded him. “And you did that perfectly every time.”

“I get nervous to miss,” he said after we took a break, and I asked if this was helping. “I don’t want my team to lose.”

“Well.” I crouched down on my skates in front of him until we were eye level. “You’re going to lose sometimes. When the kids on your team miss, do you get mad at them?”

“I mean…sometimes.” He shuffled on his skates, mumbling like he was afraid to admit the truth.

I couldn’t keep in my chuckle. “Okay. I hear you there. I’m going to go to the bench and write some things down, okay? You show it to your dad, and he can help you.”

He looked up at me behind his cage guard. “I don’t have a dad.”

“Oh…” Well, shoot.

“But I have a Papa Paul.” He grinned. I playfully pushed against his helmet.

“Papa Paul will help then, I’m sure of it. And soon you won’t be nervous at all.”

I skated off to the bench as the buzzer rang, signaling the end of camp. I had to check my watch to make sure. Working with Jonah had made the afternoon fly by.

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