COLUMN: Mother, son moments

Three years of minor hockey.

That’s how long it took me to grasp the concept of off side.

But then came the monkey.

It was a typical morning of me trying to hurry him out the door. ‘You’re gonna miss the bus’ is my familiar mantra.

“Wait,” my oldest son replied, “I need to see the monkey.”

Huh? I glanced up and saw a monkey spinning a wheel as flashes of hockey team logos blurred past. I had just heard on the radio that they had selected the team that would get first pick in the next NHL draft. For a few seconds I was dumbfounded.

They let a monkey decide?

No, I was quickly corrected, the monkey picks who is going to win the first rounds in the playoffs.

And just when I thought I had this hockey thing all figured out.

In our household hockey is big, even though my youngest son thinks he’s playing on a team called the ‘little doughnuts’ next year and I still can’t tell the difference between icing and frosting.

But my oldest loves hockey and more to the point, he loves the Ottawa Senators. Needless to say it’s been happy times at home in recent weeks.

It’s gotten me to thinking about how much hockey has brought my son and I together, considering it was the furthest thing from my mind when he was born nine years ago. I figured he’d hang out me until he was old enough to know he’d rather be at the wharf with his dad.

But then this hockey thing happened. It started with Timbits. I was quite proud of myself each Saturday morning in the dressing room when I managed to shave off 4 seconds, 24 seconds, two minutes from the previous time I had strapped what seemed like the entire sporting aisle of Canadian Tire onto his little frame. In our basement I’m forever asked to take shots on him. He says I don’t deke enough but I’ve learned to flick the puck when it counts.

I’ve sat on the ‘warm’ side of the rink on cold days and the ‘cold’ side in the middle of summer. And I’ve been ridiculed by co-workers for thinking the concept of buying heat at a rink is a normal part of belonging to the human race.

I’ve spent 57 minutes organizing 473 hockey cards into neat piles of teams only to come back 3.6 minutes later to see them mixed up in one heaping pile.

I’ve sat bleary-eyed through overtimes and shootouts on school nights (and work nights) to let him know who won the game the next morning.

And I’ve taken him to see the Sens twice in person. Once in exhibition play in Halifax and this past March for a 5-2 victory over the New York Islanders at Scotia Bank Place in Ottawa.

Did I mention the train ride was a 42-hour return trip?

Together we celebrate our team’s victories and I’m honestly not sure who’s more disappointed if they lose.

Yes, hockey has turned into a real mother-son bonding thing for us. Funny, since I always figured that was supposed to be a father-son thing.

You have to understand, before my son became a die-hard Sens fan years ago I had never in my life watched an entire hockey game on TV. Now, not only do I watch the games, but also the post press conferences, the highlight reels and the interviews outside the dressing room.

And why? Because he loves hockey. And I love him.

And by the way, the monkey blew it in predicting the first round of playoffs. The monkey’s spin had landed on the Pittsburg Penguins.

“The monkey is always right,” exclaimed my son as we were racing down the driveway to catch the bus with a few seconds to spare.

Really, I thought to myself, and you call yourself a Senators fan!

(THIS COLUMN WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN TO COINCIDE WITH MOTHER'S DAY 2007)