“Of course I’m going to teach you a few new moves. Some of the league’s best players have cool moves in their pockets so you’ve got to have one too.” I give him a fist bump and then ask, “You ready to show off some skills?”
“Yeah! I want to be like you, Coach! I want to score goals like you!” His eyes are wide with excitement, and I can’t help but chuckle. It’s the kind of infectious energy that makes me want to dive into the drills headfirst.
Ah, to be a kid learning to play hockey for the first time all over again.
“Then let’s hit the ice, superstar!” I say, motioning for him to follow me. I can feel Harper’s eyes on us, warm and encouraging as if she’s silently cheering us on. As we skate out onto the ice, I glance back at her and see her relax into a smile. It’s a small thing, but it feels monumental. It reminds me of the way we used to share moments like this, free of worry or doubt.
I don’t waste any time. “Which move do you want to learn first?” I ask, wanting to make this day unforgettable for Connor. And if I’m being honest I want to make it unforgettable for Harper too. I want her to see I’m all in. I want her to see that I can do this. I’ll do it all her way if I have to, but I want to do this. I want to be in Connor’s life.
“I want to learn the spin move!” Connor declares, eyes shining with determination.
I chuckle, nodding. “The spin move it is. It’s one of my favorites and I’ll show you the secret to nailing it.” I stop in the center of the ice and square my stance.
“First things first, the spin move is all about balance and control. You want to make sure you’re low, knees bent, and when you spin, keep your head up. You don’t want to lose sight of the puck.”
Connor nods, mimicking my stance like a little sponge soaking up every bit of wisdom I’m throwing at him.
“Now, let’s start simple. Just glide a little for me.” I demonstrate, gliding across the rink, feeling the cool air rush past me. My heart races with exhilaration. Connor tries to copy me but ends up wobbling, arms flailing like a windmill.
“Nope, nope!” I call out, laughing. “You’ve got to lean into it!”
“Like this?” he asks, bending his knees and leaning forward a little too much.
“Exactly!” I say, giving him a thumbs-up. “But keep your head up! You want to see where you’re going, not just where you’ve been.”
He nods seriously, and I can see the gears turning in his mind. Damn, he’s a quick learner. It’s amazing to see how much he wants to absorb every piece of information I give him. Part of me wishes I could snapshot this moment. Just us on the ice, no past, no complications. Just a coach and his kid.
God, it feels good.
Just like when I was a kid, the smell of the ice, the sound of skates cutting through, the way the world feels different when you’re gliding across it. But this time, it’s so much more. This is my son. My opportunity to be the father I’ve always wanted to be. In the corner of my eye, I catch Harper leaning against the boards, watching with an expression that’s a mix of pride and something deeper. Her smile is a beautiful, soft reminder of just how much I’ve missed having her around; how good it feels to have our lives intertwine again, even if it’s just for a moment on the ice.
“Okay, now we’re gonna add a spin. Watch closely.”
I shift my weight on the ice, feeling the cool air whip past me as I demonstrate the spin. It’s my favorite move, one I perfected over years of practice and countless hours spent repeating the motion until it became second nature.
“Alright, bud,” I say, glancing back at Connor, who is studying my every move with a surprising intensity. “You ready for this?”
He nods vigorously, eyes wide with excitement. “Yeah! I can do it!”
“Of course you can!” I encourage, trying to keep my tone light but focused. “Just remember to keep your knees bent, your center of gravity low and balanced, and your head up. You don’t want to lose sight of the puck.”
He nods, determination etched into his little features as he pushes himself off, wobbling slightly before he gathers some speed. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he focuses on getting it right. There’s a small moment of hesitation as his nerves nearly overpower him, but then he takes a deep breath, perhaps channeling my earlier advice about balance, and commits to the first spin.
“Here goes nothing!” he shouts as he begins his spin but no sooner does he start to turn then he trips over his own skate and tumbles. I barely keep from bursting out laughing as Connor flops onto the ice, arms splayed out like a starfish. Worry washes over me when I see him flop, but before I can skate over, he’s already getting back up with that same infectious grin.
“Oops! My bad! Next time, I’ll be a ninja!” he promises.
“Yeah, that was an excellent flop my man,” I tell him chuckling. “Happens to the best of us. Maybe don’t turn that foot in so much, yeah?”
He nods. “Got it. I’m going to try that again.”
“Good. Let’s see it.”
As he pushes off again, I feel that strange mix of pride and anxiety swell inside me. I want him to nail this spin, to experience that rush of accomplishment, just like I did when I was young.
“Here I go!” he shouts, and for a fleeting instant, the world around us blurs into insignificance. It’s just me, him, and that beautiful sheet of ice. With every twist and turn, my own heart skips a beat as he starts to spin.
“Keep it steady, bud!” I yell, and then, in true kid-fashion, he loses his balance again and topples over. Instead of frustration though, he bursts into laughter, echoing through the rink like a joyous anthem. “Did you see that?” he giggles as I skate over to help him up.
