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“Jax!” he says in his own unique way.
He’s thirteen now and turning into a young man, who has no concept of his own strength, so he grips me tightly and, proverbially laughing his head off, leans back to try and rock me off my feet. To be fair to the kid, he gets me onto tiptoes.
“You’ve gotten bigger,” I tell him.
I shake hands with his parents and we have a quick chat before Jenson demands I play tin can – tossing mini basketballs at tin cans stacked by six. The prizes are soft toys – dragons wearing our team T-shirts – of various sizes.
I’m intentionally missing my mark as Jenson and I play off against each other, giving him the best shot at beating me because I’m pretty sure it will make his day.
In the end, he doesn’t win and I want him to get the biggest toy, so I nail my final ball, knocking all six cans off the shelf and securing him the largest dragon. But before he even realizes that I’m donating my prize to him, he cheers and hollers in support of my win. Literally bursting with ear-piercing delight.
This is what I fucking love about Jenson. He doesn’t give a crap who won or what the implications of a win or loss are; he only cares that he got to play and have fun. What a cool fucking world it would be if everyone just wanted to have fun and big each other up.
There’s a genuine swell in my heart as I hand over the enormous cuddly to my buddy.
The next game I play after signing a few photographs is hook-a-dragon. At the large tub full of bobbing rubber dragons waiting to be captured, there’s a little girl standing on a step, making her tall enough to play the game as her parents look on. She has that soft fuzzy regrown hair that cancer survivors get once they’ve been free of treatment for long enough.
I sidle up to the family and introduce myself, noticing that the girl has a hook in one hand and in the other, a vanilla ice cream doused in chocolate sauce. She licks the cone and smiles at me with a twinkle in her eyes.
I feel compelled to smile back. There’s something about young children who’ve seen the worst already and come through it that makes them magical. Their thirst for life, a defiance that nothing will get them down. I can’t imagine going through anything like that because I’ve thankfully not lived that experience, but I’m grateful for the privilege of not having to.
“What’s your name?” I ask the girl.
“Cindy-Lou Portman,” she says, beaming, and I’m instantly thrust into an image of the little girl in The Grinch. I’m not about to steal Christmas, but I’m pretty sure she’s about to steal my heart.
“So, have you rung the bell yet?” I ask.
Her smile defies logic by growing wider still as she nods her head fiercely up and down. “Yes. I did it two months ago. Mommy, was it two months ago?”
Her mom looks nervous in the way supporters can sometimes, as if I’m something special for being able to play pro-hockey, when she’s off the charts amazing for getting herself and her family through the shittiest hand in life. “Close enough,” she tells me.
I hold up my hand and Cindy-Lou high fives me. “Way to go, kiddo. Is that why you’re eating ice cream?”
She shakes her head. “I’m allowed to eat whatever I want, whenever I want because I’m so brave, aren’t I, Daddy?”
“I guess I can’t take it back now,” her dad says, sheepishly eying Mom. I have a feeling he doesn’t regret making that promise one bit.
I bend down to get closer to Cindy-Lou as I’m speaking, but as I do, she thrusts the ice cream at me. “Want some?” And the damn thing smacks me in the nose.
The chocolate smeared across my face is worth every second of the childish giggle I receive in response, as Cindy-Lou’s mom hands me a wet wipe apologetically.
“Don’t worry about it. Who doesn’t love chocolate sauce?” I tell her, finally putting her at ease, I think. Your girl is more superhuman than me, I want to tell her, but I also don’t want to acknowledge the awkwardness that is in stark contrast to her daughter’s happy-go-lucky.
If these events leave me with one message, it’s this: if you’re lucky enough to keep some kid inside you as you walk through adult life, cherish it. I learn that one day of every year and it took me years to get a degree in philosophy that didn’t give me that insight.
“How about I try to win you the biggest dragon?” I ask Cindy-Lou.
As the game host sets me up with a hook, I glance to the drinks tent, noticing that Sienna’s ex, Carl, has turned up. Talk about a mood killer. I immediately look around for Sienna and spot her, in an animated conversation with Mitch and Lauren by the helter-skelter. There’s a good seventy yards between the pair and I’d be willing to bet they haven’t seen each other yet. I also know that while I’m winning incredible kids ridiculously large soft toys for the next couple of hours, I’ll be watching my wife like a hawk to make sure she’s okay.
21
SEPTEMBER
Sienna
Just a Little Change
I’ve never given much thought to whether I want kids and a home with a white picket fence one day. Carl is much older than me and already has a daughter he hardly sees, who lives in another state with her mom and stepdad. I guess I assumed he didn’t want another child – his approach is hardly paternal with the one he has. Maybe we talked about it and he told me as much. Either way, I think that part of my brain is locked down. I have – had – a career and professional goals. What would have been the point in deciding I wanted something I couldn’t have? I guess if I overthink it, I also don’t know what kind of parent I’d be. Fun? Intense like my mom, always pushing me to be a someone? I’ve never been able to visualize myself as either.
