I have a good idea of what will happen when the Bears return on Wednesday.
After getting Savannah into her pajamas, I look up at the flowers lining the dresser in our room. Three vases, one from the girls for my first day, one from Lydia and Maya, saying how proud they were of me, and one with a card addressed to Savannah and me, with no signature. I sent Deacon a text and thanked him for them.
I scoop my little one up, knowing that in minutes she would be asleep. She is even more exhausted today than she wasyesterday, which somehow breaks my heart. I hold her tight and tell myself that I am not going to cry…again.
“Two down and three to go, then it’s the weekend, and I plan on doing nothing else but snuggling you for two days straight,” I say as we head back down the stairs.
When I walk into the kitchen, Nalani is staring at the pierogi we made, “They look good, right?”
“They look perfect. Paul will appreciate our effort.”
“Is that code for they look like shit?” she asks, and we both laugh.
But when they arrived, and we sat down to eat, Paul got a bit emotional, “Patsy used to make perogies and minced meat every Sunday that I was home.”
He looks at Nalani and then me, “You two did good.”
“What the hell is minced meat?” Sofie asks, then scowls at Noelle, who had obviously kicked her under the table. “Ouch.”
He chuckled and nodded to the French doors leading out to the henhouse, “It’s not chicken.”
I whisper, “Hamburger,”
“You sure?” she asks, cutting in to it and looking disgusted.
“Try it, Sassy,” Paul points his fork at her. “You’ll like it.”
And she did.
“Look at that!”Paul barks, waving his cane at the TV. “This guy’s crying to the ref because someone nudged him into the boards. Pathetic! Back in my day, the refs would have told us to suck it up. You took your hits like a man, or you didn’t, and they scraped you off the ice.”
He’s wired tonight, I think.
“Helmets with all this fancy padding,” Paul scoffs. “You’d think these boys were getting ready for war, not a hockey game. We had helmets so thin you could fold them up and put ’em in your back pocket. Elbow pads? Forget about it. And when you took a puck to the face, you spat your teeth out and finished the damn play.”
When Noelle snorts, we all laugh, including Savannah and Paul.
He doesn’t stop the entire game. The best part is, he’s dead serious, and after looking at team film from decades ago to learn the Bears’ history, I know he’s absolutely right.
“Look at ’em, prancing around in shoulder pads so thick you could crash a car into them, and they wouldn’t feel a thing. Back then, we had gear that barely covered your bones. Took a stick to the ribs? Good luck, kid; see you back on the ice in two minutes, or you’ll be cut from the roster.”
“Those players would be crying for their mommy if they had to wear the garbage they gave us back then. But no, these pretty boys are out there in bubble wrap and helmets that cost more than my first car.”
Sofie asks, “They’re faster now, right? The game’s faster. Players are fitter.”
“Faster, my ass!” He chuckles. “And if they are, it’s because they’ve got rinks smoother than glass, skates made out of goddamn space-age materials, and trainers feeding them organic kale smoothies every morning. We were fueled by coffee, Camel cigarettes—the ones with no filters—and whatever booze we could sneak past the coach.”
“Yeah, ’cause alcohol makes everything better,” Sofie grumbles.
“And don’t even get me started on the money.” He waves his hand around the room. “You know what I made my first year?”
“No, tell us.” Noelle smiles.
“Six thousand bucks. Six grand! And I was lucky to get it. Today, these rookies are signing deals with more zeroes than I can count before they’ve even grown chest hair. And for what? To sit on the bench and cry when they break a nail?”
All of us, even Sofie, crack up at that.
“If I’d been paid in today’s dollars, I’d own a house like this, maybe two.” He winks at me. “Tough game; tell those boys to put away money for their knee and hip replacements now.”
