Page 75 of Snowballed

I exhale and unclench my fists. Can I actually reach him? “Dad, I’m sorry that I let you down.”

There it is. The unvarnished truth. I’ve done everything he asked, but the results weren’t what he wanted. And while I could name a dozen reasons that I’d never made the NHL, none of them matter. It’s not about my size, my attitude, or my skills. It’s about our relationship—do we have one beyond hockey?

My father looks more puzzled than anything. Can it be that he doesn’t know what life is like for me?

“Let me down? How?” he asks with genuine wonder. “You mean about ASU?”

“No, it’s not about Burlington or ASU, it’s about my hockey. My whole life you talked about the NHL and how an NHL career could set me up for life. You even joked about a hockey dynasty. And when Adam got drafted, you were so happy—the happiest I’ve ever seen. And now he’s playing in the NHL. Your dream came true, and I couldn’t give that to you. I’m sorry I’m never going to live up to your expectations.”

I’ve ripped my soul wide open here. Now it’s up to him. Maybe he’ll dismiss my acceptance of failure and tell me five ways I can improve my game. Maybe he’ll understand that all I want is for him to accept me. But I have no idea because I’ve never been this honest with my father. I’ve tried to make him happy, but I’ve never told him what a toll it took on me. The pressure that sent me to therapy, the months of recovery after my knee surgery, sacrificing my social life from October to March, eating a high protein diet until this fall.

The Lambo eats up the miles with only the sound of Springsteen in the car. My dad is weighing his next words like a judge.

He clears his throat.“When you put it like that, I understand how you feel. But son, I have never been disappointed in you. I was disappointed in the scouts for not appreciating everything you can offer. You’re smart—like your mom—you’re hardworking, focused, determined. All the things that make a great leader as well as a great hockey player.”

I feel winded. How long have I wanted to hear my father say something like this? Well, my whole life. He’s hyper-critical because he believes that’s what makes players better. And that’s fine in a coach but not in a father.

“Thank you.” My words feel inadequate, but they are completely sincere.

He keeps his eyes on the road. “Noah, I need to apologize to you. I was wrong to question your decision to join the Burlington Bulls team.”

I have no words. My dad never admits he’s wrong.

“There’s a point in every boy’s life where he needs to take his own path. I can already see how much you’ve matured since you left. But I hope you’ll still come to your old man for advice once in a while.”

A smile I can’t control spreads across my face. Our rift was like a nagging ache that never went away, no matter how good the rest of my life was. I’m as light as a balloon floating free.

“I will, Dad. After all, who got me this far?”

We pull into the parking lot of Mildred’s Café.

My dad gets out of the car and stretches his huge frame. When I was a kid, I thought he was the strongest man in the world.

“Jesus, that’s all the emotional bullshit I can handle,” he says. “Let’s talk about something else during dinner.”

This is so typically Dad, but I kind of agree. We sit down at a corner table and look at the menus. They still serve the same diner food I loved when I was a kid. I’m sure my mother chose this restaurant because the nostalgia and the long drive would put both of us in better moods.

When my father orders a hamburger patty with no bun and a side salad, I ask for the same. Old habits.

He looks across the table at me and smiles.

“I can see you’ve been eating properly out east. Your body fat is what, 9%?”

“About that.” While I’m jacked to pass his eye test, I don’t want to get into a discussion about my diet. Pear crumble with homemade ice cream is definitely not on his list of approved foods. I search for a distracting change of subject.

“So, what’s wrong with the Kings this season?” I ask.

And so we talk hockey the rest of the evening. Fun, guilt-free hockey talk. To my great joy, it feels like he’s listening to me with as much respect as I’ve always had for him.

26

Noah

On the morning of December 24th, Chi and I drive to the airport to pick up Adam.

“Poor guy, he only gets two days off,” Chi says. “We’re going to have to cram a ton of fun into his time here. Sleeping is out of the question.”

She’s kidding, because nobody in our household ever neglects the “adequate rest” part of in-season training. I’m a little nervous about seeing Adam. Things haven’t been the same between us since the draft, although he’s been so busy that he probably hasn’t even noticed. When we were both in Arizona, we saw each other constantly. But since the summer, it’s been mainly messaging.

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