I nod. “Sure am.”
Before I can ask his name, he smacks his palm into his fist and grins, showing a gap in his teeth where one is missing. “I saw you hit that guy. It was so cool! You were like,Blam!And he was like,Augh!” The kid covers his face and cowers, acting out both parts of his one-man show.
“I saw it, too!” a girl pipes up. She doesn’t seem anywhere near as impressed as the boys do. “Why’d you attack that guy? Seemed kinda mean to me.”
I take a deep breath. They’re just kids, but in some ways, that makes my answer feel even more important. “You want to know the truth?”
I could lie. Give them something cleaner, easier to understand. Something that makes me look better. That’s probably what I’m supposed to do. Instead, the truth comes up before I can stop it.
There are at least a dozen kids around me now, all of whom answer in the affirmative. I check to make sure that Remy is busy elsewhere. Fortunately, she’s chatting up some parents, so I don’t have to worry that she’ll overhear more than I’m ready to admit to her.
I drop to one knee and wave all of them into a huddle. “The truth is, I was scared.”
Saying it out loud feels different than thinking it. Heavier. Like I’ve handed them something real instead of the version everyone else gets.
The kid with the missing tooth whistles. “But you’re bigger than that other guy!”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t scared of him. I was scared because my mom was having a hard day, and I couldn’t be there to help her.”
Every single one of those kids gets real quiet. Maybe not all kids understand the feeling, but if the majority of these families are struggling, then they know exactly how I feel.
One of the girls asks, “Is she okay now?”
“Yeah.” I smile. “Thanks for asking.”
“Was she sick?” another kid asks.
Oof. Middle schoolers shouldn’t have to think about shit like sick moms, which makes me wonder what’s going on in thatkid’s life. “No, but her house got damaged, and I wasn’t sure that she was safe there.”
Another round of knowing nods passes through the group.
They get it faster than most adults do. No analysis, no second-guessing. Just understanding. It shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.
“My grandma’s power got turned off for four whole days this summer,” a little boy says.
“Ours got turned off for twoweeks,” a girl says.
“It’s scary when stuff happens that you can’t control, right? And sometimes you make a poor choice because you feel desperate. Just like I did.” I rise to my feet. “So, who wants to run some drills like we do in the NHL?”
If my teammates could see the enthusiasm with which all these kids respond, they would laugh their asses off. It’s a big mess, and some volunteers have to step in to control ensuing chaos, but it’s… Fun? The kids want to show off their skills, so I mostly watch and nod and give them thumbs-up when they pull off a decently cool move.
Mentoring. I actually don’t suck at it. Who knew?
When I glance up, I catch her watching me. Not with that tight, critical look from earlier. Something else. Softer. Like she’s seeing something she didn’t expect.
* * *
When it’s time to wind down, I say good-bye to the kids, dash off a couple of signatures, and stop to pat the goodest boy who accompanied one of the volunteers to the rink today.
“So handsome!” I coo, momentarily forgetting that I have an audience as I rub the golden retriever’s belly. “Look at this pink tummy! Does that feel nice?”
I forget she’s there for a second. Forget the meeting, the clip, all of it. It’s just me and a dog who wants belly rubs and a moment that doesn’t require anything from me.
A muffled laugh makes me look up. Remy has her hand over her mouth, pretending to clear her throat. I give the dog one last pat. Listen, I have my pride, but Mister Bean is averycute pupper.
On our way out, the rink’s owner comes over to personally thank me for visiting. “We’re a really small establishment. It’s an honor to have you here. The kids loved meeting you.” He pumps my hand like a used car salesman. I’m not sure what he’s trying to sell me, since I already did the event.
“Thank her.” I nod to Remy.
