Thursday, October 27, 2011

Chapped Lips & a Perm

I am now officially a hockey mom.  This is my 7 year old son's third year in hockey but this is his first year where he actually gets to play games, for points, where someone notices who's won and who's lost.  It is a big deal.

It is a big deal for most of these little boys who have been practising and learning to skate for at least two to three years prior to their first real game.  Further to that, it's a big deal for their mothers.  A bigger deal than I might have imagined.  A bigger deal than I might think is normal or within the realm of common sense and decency.

I don't think I'm cut out to be a hockey mom.  I like hockey.  I like my children.  You would think, therefore, there wouldn't be a problem.  Wrong.  See I generally am not a fan of small talk.  I also am not a fan of those who 'put on airs'.  I am not a fan of women.  Don't get your panties in a bunch.  I have some really good female friends.  Oddly enough though, the three women I have at sometime or now still do consider my best friends, are women who generally get along better with men than women.  My best friend ladies swear.  They are direct.  They are intelligent.  They, I am quite certain, know the measure of importance that should be allotted to a Novice 'B' hockey game.  For those of you unfamiliar with hockey, the Novice division is for 7 year old children.

7 Years Old.

This is important to remember for a number of reasons.  Some of these children, it could be argued, are playing hockey because their parents want them too.  Some of these children are playing hockey because they love it and have dreams of the NHL.  Some of these children are playing because it's fun.

I do believe their mothers fall in the same category.  I am not intentionally picking on moms.  They are just who I'm spending time in the stands with at the rink.  I have heard horror stories about the dads too and I'm sure in the years to come I will have those observations to share as well.

Some of the moms have encouraged their sons to play hockey because they love hockey or their husband loves hockey or because it's just what boys (in Canada, at least) are supposed to do.  Some of the moms are supporting their sons playing hockey because their child loves it and is having fun.  Some of the moms are supporting their children playing hockey because it apparently, in some way or another, defines who they are as a woman, a mother and human being.

These are the women I take issue with. The woman who sat in the stands at the very first game last weekend and literally screamed at her seven year old child and his team.   She didn't scream anything that warranted intervention but one could surmise it was fairly intense and unnecessary at this level (or any for that matter) of hockey.  And one other woman did surmise this.  How she found the time to come to this realization is beyond me as she spends the better part of her time at the rink applying lip balm.  It comes in handy when you kiss as much coordinator ass as she does.  That being said, she did notice and instead of moving or choosing to ignore immature behaviour, she told this woman to "Shut up!"  Apparently this was not well received.


I have a long road ahead of me folks.  Which is good for you because I don't foresee running out of material anytime soon.  Reese is only 7.   There is a lot of hockey ahead and he loves it.  Rhett is 4 and wants nothing more than to be like his brother, so yes, more hockey.  More lunatics.  More perms.

I fear I will not make a lot of new friends.  I fear I will end up a permed screaming lunatic with chapped lips if I am not careful and do not plan accordingly.

So here it is, I will maintain friendships outside of the rink, I will have hobbies, read the paper and watch TV.  I will ask my hairdresser to sign a contract with me vowing never to perm my hair never mind how much I beg (wash and wear would be such a breeze with early ice times though...).  I will save my screaming for adult sports events.  I have yet to kiss ass and really don't think the rink is the place to start.  What if my lips get frozen to coordinator ass?!  It's a risk I just can't take.

All I ask from you is if you see my slipping, if you notice a change in behaviour wherein I simper in front of hockey 'royalty' (read: coaches, coordinators and whoever else could be deemed as all powerful by the Hockey Gods) or I suddenly don mom jeans and blue shadow, step in, please.

I mean, I need to stay in top form for at least the next ten years and then I will be all set for our first NHL draft.

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