Page 17 of Lucky Shot
“Yeah.” I chuckle, then notice one of the parents is approaching me. Generally, the younger kids’ parents stick around the first day, or at least for the first few hours, to make sure their child is going to be okay. Most of them sit quietly in the reserved section of the stands we rope off for them to view camp, but there are always a couple that think they need to come down and help out, give their kid a pep talk or a snack.
I glance back at Trav. “Can you get them out on the ice?”
He gives me a sympathetic glance as he also notices the mom on her way with a water bottle in one hand and a baggie of orange crackers in the other. “Yeah. No prob.”
I raise my voice so the kids can hear me over the noise, “Once you’re all set, my friend Travis will lead you out onto the ice. Ifit’s your first time or you’re feeling uneasy, then grab one of the skating aids.”
Once I’ve given them their instructions, I walk around them to the mom on her way over. She’s at least hesitant enough to hang back.
“Hi,” she says, cheerily, when I get within a few feet of her. “I forgot to give these to Annabelle. And I also wanted to make sure she got her skates laced up right. She still struggles to tie her shoes.”
There’s a clear nervousness about the woman that mirrors the cute little redhead. Annabelle already told me she hasn’t skated before so I understand where her mom is coming from, and I can tell her intentions are good. It can be hard to stand by helplessly and watch your kid do something new and out of their comfort zone.
“I’m Nick.” I hold out a hand to her.
“Kelly.” She sets the crackers on top of the water bottle and shakes my hand. “And gosh. I know who you are. We’re big fans in my family. My parents have season tickets. It’s just, Annabelle is my sweet, accident-prone child. She hasn’t really done any sports. Except a short stint in gymnastics that ended with both her and her coach in tears.”
I smile and let out a small laugh. “Learning a new sport can be hard and stressful, but I promise we’ll check all their gear before they get on the ice and do our best to make sure she has a good time.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything, and I can tell my words haven’t really eased her fears. It might just be that she needs to see Annabelle conquer hockey as much as her daughter does.
“And I can take that for her.” I glance at the water and snack she’s holding.
“Oh, okay.” She gives them to me, then wrings her hands in front of her.
“She can do this,” I say. Not every kid walks out of camp a superstar, but none have left without being able to skate marginally well or hit a puck into the goal (at least at close range).
She nods again and I offer one more smile before I head back. Annabelle is at the back of the line. She has a look of fear on her face, but she holds her head high as the kids step forward one by one. Trav checks all of them over before giving them the okay to enter the ice. We have other coaches this week assisting, so there are plenty of bodies to make sure each camper has someone to help, if needed.
I put Annabelle’s snack with the rest of the kids’ stuff, then stop next to her at the back of the line. She glances over and attempts to smile.
“Nervous?” I ask.
She shakes her head adamantly. Her red hair is pulled back in a ponytail, but a few strands fall around her face.
“It’s okay if you are. I was terrified the first time I went skating.”
“You were?” she asks, disbelief rampant in her tone.
“Mhmm.” I squat down so I’m at eye level with her. Checking her gear over and adjusting as needed, I say, “My dad told me the most important thing to remember was that everybody falls.”
She giggles, a small, anxious sound.
“Don’t be afraid of it. Try to relax and not worry about going down. The more you fall, the more you get up, and the faster you’ll get the hang of it.” They are words I’ve had to repeat to myself a lot over the years. Especially lately.
Ever since my shoulder surgery, stepping out onto the ice makes me uneasy. It wasn’t the first and won’t be the last time I get hurt playing hockey, but for some reason this one really messed with my head. It’s not so bad when I’m shooting around or helping the kids, but it’s going to be a long journey to gearingup and playing full contact without worrying I’m one injury away from retirement.
“What if I get hurt?” Her voice is small and my gut twists as her fears mirror my own.
“That’s what all this padding is for.” I tighten the strap of her helmet under her chin and then tap the top of it lightly. It’s her turn so I stand and hope I’ve made her less nervous instead of more. I’ve been a parent long enough to know my pep talks aren’t always awesome.
“Ready to fall down?” I ask her, but maybe I’m talking to myself a little too.
She grins, flashing that gap in the front. I go ahead of her and then watch as she takes her first tentative step. She doesn’t let go of the wall until I slide a skating aid in front of her. The sturdy plastic aid is about three feet tall and a couple feet wide with handles to grip on to. It’s essentially a walker that glides over the ice, keeping the kids upright while they get their footing.
It’s hard to remember what it’s like to learn to skate. I’ve been doing it so long that it feels so natural, but I give her, and the rest of the kids, the same basic instructions I’ve heard time and again, “Start with small steps, alternate lifting one foot then the other, glide, push off with one skate, feel the shift of weight.”
Slowly they each get comfortable. Even Annabelle. The first time she falls, she looks over at me. Tears well in her eyes, but she picks herself up quickly.
