A Day With Dad

A Story by Kawartha Jeff

A short story about my Dad nearing father's day.

My Day With Dad

I remember well the time in our backyard during an abnormally cold winter. The air almost hurt to breathe in and when I exhaled, it looked as though I was smoking a cigar as the hot air met the cold. I had bothered my dad until he finally gave in and agreed to take me out to play hockey. Playing with him in the yard, the house or anywhere was always time I got excited for, the Dad and Son times were something I looked forward to and was always persistent in my pleas for more from him, (of which he rarely denied me).
Remembering my dad as he was in those days I still see a man who was six foot six inches and must have weighed in at two hundred and sixty pounds of pure muscle. In reality he was six foot even and not even two hundred pounds, but to me he was always smarter, bigger and tougher than anyone else’s father. He was my larger than life Dad. He is as he was then, the strong silent type, he didn’t raise his voice often but when he did the world stopped to listen as he didn’t need to say too much to be heard. His dedication to me and unwavering love wasn’t as visible publicly as his intelligence and patient demeanour but he never once didn’t support me with anything but love or understanding. I was scared more of disappointing him than I was of his spankings or lectures. I always wanted him to think I was a good, responsible kid who listened and behaved even though that wasn’t always the case and always felt so low when I knew I had let him down. But today I wasn’t going to let him down, I was going to score on him in our backyard as the snow fell around us and fifteen thousand fans cheered me on.
“If you’re ready to be stopped then let’s go Sport, bring it on”, he said as his moustache glistened with the ice that was beginning to form upon it.
“Wendel Clark isn’t stopped by rookie goalies Dad, I’m going to deke you out” I replied, as my smile widened because I knew exactly how I was going to score on him now. I will drop his pad with a fake shot then go backhand and get him sliding, then cut back to forehand and go top shelf where they keep the peanut butter. A textbook breakaway move I used on ice that led me to thirty-seven goals in sixteen regular season games, none of which my Dad ever missed.
As I readied myself, I remembered how often I had tried to beat my Dad on a breakaway and failed. So many times when I thought I had drawn him out of position he would stick a glove or blocker out and make a save that was worthy of a Bob Cole, “Oh baby”. I also recall the times he let me slide it under said blocker or glove when he clearly could have saved it, giving me a goal and that little bit of confidence I needed because he knew me so well.
My patience is short and I hate to lose more than those you hear say they hate to lose, but he nurtured that and showed me how to control my feelings of competitiveness and defeat. He would stop me mid-game and tell me to calm down when he saw me getting worked up because I couldn’t save one shot he let go or score on him no matter how good my shot was. Something he said always stuck with me throughout competitive hockey, I missed his shot once and turned to him and said, “I wasn’t ready Dad” with an attitude that was clearly that of a suck when he doesn’t get his way, and his reply made me even madder.
“Does an NHL goalie get to say he wasn’t ready? You always have to be ready and not get distracted, focus”, he replied. Although it enraged me it stuck with me and I have used it in sports and personal situations. Even in our interactions in the yard doing something I loved, he was able to teach me life lessons and instill knowledge in someone who wasn’t always willing to listen or learn.
As I broke away with the ball and my Sherwood felt light in my hands, I saw my Dad looking me in my eyes trying to read what I was going to do. Not this time Dad, I’m going to burn you and then go inside and tell Mom all about it. The noise of the neighbours shovelling snow and dogs barking slowly faded and was replaced with the cheers of the Gardens faithful urging me to score. As I neared my Dad I knew this was the moment, I dropped my shoulder with a feint and his knee dropped as I went backhand, he then began to slide across the snow to stop my shot but I cut back quickly and was looking at a wide open net. I angled my blade and glared at the back of the net up high and let it go, the orange ball sailed through the falling flakes as my Dads glove came out to meet the ball. But instead of stopping it the frozen ball hit the bar in the back of the net with clang and the net rocked back and forth. I had done it, I had scored a beauty and made my Dad look like a sieve. It is a moment I remember clearly to this day and still think as fondly about that goal now as I did then.
But I also feel an ultimate sense of pride in my father who has always given me the time with him I needed as a boy to bond. He didn’t want to go out in the snow and deadly cold to take shots off his skin with a frozen piece of rubber, but he did. For me. Because he loved me and wanted to teach me even if it meant not watching the curling in front of a warm fire on a day off. This is just one of the numerous memories I have of our time together as a kid and now as an adult I can see his teachings in so many things we did together. I remember him teaching me about friendship inadvertently while I watched him with his friends at softball. I remember the lesson of marrying your best friend as he described how he felt about my Mom. I remember he and my grandfather teaching me about the essentials of being a gentleman by walking on the outside of the sidewalk to protect your lady. I remember all the little things he taught me as a kid that I brushed over but value now as a man. He was a hero but is bigger than that to me now, I don’t know exactly what adjective is used to describe someone that is more important than a hero but I choose to use, “Dad”.
Looking back at it now, I wonder if my Dad could have stopped that ball or if I genuinely scored it against him. I think I will let it remain a mystery, I like it that way.