Last night we had so much fun watching Oliver's hockey game. It was a clean, fast game and every kid left it all out there on the ice. It all ended in a tie and that felt absolutely right. Anyway, my dad wrote this and sent it over to us this morning in an email. Sometimes life is pretty beautiful.
**
When you think of perfect evenings, do you think of elegant dinners? A magical performance at the theatre? That night you stayed up late to watch meteor showers dance in the heavens?
All good, all good.
But there’s nothing there to match hockey pucks and cheeseburgers, smothered in a little girl’s hugs.
It happened last night, a gift for a near 78-year-old who doesn’t care all that much for driving at night, even ever so carefully, even wearing cozy warm underwear to fight off the frigid benches at the west end hockey rink.
What greeted me there was the enthusiasm of my favourite daughter, combined with an endless flurry of hugs from my ten-year-old granddaughter, combined with the whirling on-ice performance of my 13-year-old grandson, topped off with the finest cheeseburger in town, all dressed by the lovely lady who lives in the snack bar: Mrs. Burger.
When you get all these people performing at their peak it is well worth the inconvenience of a frozen bum and a drive in the dark.
So last night I hit the jackpot. My daughter led the cheering, even when the other team scored a goal. Well, one of their goals. She deemed the goal worthy, and it was.
Myriad hugs from my other fellow spectator, little Cookie, who is an athlete in her own right but more than that, an endlessly wriggling FORCE.
And Oliver! Number 11! The player with one white sock and one black sock. Impeccable defensive play.
And the goal! Oh my, the goal. Some foolish player on the red team left the Big O uncovered half way in from the blue line for maybe three or four seconds. Never leave Oliver unprotected for more than half a second. The windup! The shot that threaded the needle at a difficult angle and wham! I mean WHAM!!! Into the lower left hand corner. A thing of beauty.
Oh, the red team managed to make it a tie, but never mind. Bring on the mustard, ketchup, relish and onions. How I love you, Mrs. Burger.
And the crowing glory: while sitting in my car, munching my burger, who should come tapping on my window? The goal-scorer! Thanking me for coming. Thanking ME for coming. The goal scorer was thanking ME!
You think you know perfect evenings?
Think again.
Post courtesy of its author, Dan Turner.
Comments