Page 114 of Home of the Brave

“Do you want Josh to sign your shirt?” I asked Alex. It seemed like something they’d want, but either forgot to ask for or didn’t want to impose.

“Would you?” Alex asked Josh, as if the offer was to join the team on the ice for the game as a first-line player.

“Of course,” Josh patted his pockets and looked around.

“Here,” I dug through my bag and found a marker I used to make notecards. Josh took it and signed the front where Alex pointed.

“Thank you so much,” Tyler repeated as he guided his son away, who was staring down at the signature in awe.

“Have a good trip,” Josh waved, then opened the door of the museum, and we stepped into the reprieve of the air conditioning.

“Sorry about that,” he said, but I stopped him.

“Don’t ever apologize about meeting a fan and treating them like a person rather than an inconvenience.”

He huffed. “I hate that.”

“Me too.” And far too many professional athletes did; blowing off the people that loved and supported them, rather than showing their appreciation.

“Has that happened a lot already?”

“That was the first time without a bunch of the other guys around,” he explained as he stared up at an old plane. “Wow, they start off with a bang, don’t they?”

“I think that’s the Wright brothers’ plane.” I was in awe of being hit with immediate historical significance without a minute to adjust.

“Huh.” He moved forward, not looking away from it. “How do you go up from here?”

“Like literally? With the plane or. . .” I teased, and he laughed.

“I mean, if you start with this,” he pointed, “how do you keep people engaged? There are more amazing things to see?”

“Apparently,” I turned and nodded. “Like that.”

He tilted his head. “What is that?”

I stared up at the space machine and took in the signs. “A moon rock?”

We walked around until we discovered there was, in fact, a moon rock we could touch.

“I feel like a little kid,” he whispered as we took in each artifact with awe. “Suddenly, I want to be a pilot or an astronaut.”

“Too bad you’re just a hockey player,” I teased, and he chuckled.

“Yeah, childhood dreams crushed.”

“Did you ever really want to be anything else?” I asked as we slowly strolled through the next exhibit.

“Not really, I fell in love with hockey as soon as I started, according to my parents. I don’t actually remember anything before then.” He paused. “Actually, there was a short time I wanted to be an ice-skating fireman, but my dad told me that wasn’t a thing, so I moved on pretty fast.”

I laughed. “My parents thought I’d switch to figure skating as soon as the skating class I was in split into boys and girls, but I was seven and knew I wanted to play hockey. I saw the boys and girls spinning and leaping during their classes and was like, no thank you. That looked too scary; I’d rather take a puck to the face.”

He let out a loud chuckle that got the attention of those around us and quickly ducked his head. “Sorry, it’s just most kids I work with are afraid of the puck, and you were running toward it to get away from doing spins?”

“Yeah, they fell a lot, and I knew how much that hurt.” I shrugged. “Seemed like a no-brainer."

“Didn’t your older brother play too?”

“You remembered that?” I mentioned it during our first interview.