I “stuck it” to the man, but all i got was a broken stick

On Monday, I was playing intramural hockey when i had my goalie stick snapped in half. It was the third period, the opposing team was down by 2. A forward from Red Team charged down the ice on a breakaway, so i came out of the net to meet him. When he was about two feet away, I figured he would deke, so I shifted my weight to push off. He didn’t deke. He plowed straight into me, knocking me backwards and breaking my stick at the paddle (the flat part). The puck bounced off of me, and the Red Team scored anyways. This is what was left of the stick:

Another runner in the family

Today, Aaron ran his first cross country meet, with the inaugural team at DHMC. The team is run by one of the teachers, coach John. They’ve been training for a couple of weeks, and this was their first competition, the Falcon Invitational. We had a rough start to the day, having trouble finding the park, then having trouble finding the entrance to the park, then having trouble finding the coach and team. But we found them, I let my blood pressure drop, and relaxed a bit before the meet.

I remembered to bring the camera, not just for me, but I thought perhaps coach John would be preoccupied with coaching, as opposed to picture taking. I took many photos, and tried to get as many kids and group shots as possible. But these are for you loyal readers. The first one, I got lucky and managed to align the stupid camera’s own sense of timing with the starter’s gun, and I got the kids right as they began to move. All the kids in black on the left are runners from Aaron’s team. It’s interesting that the boys have clearly begun to lunge across the starting line:

Here is the back of Aaron’s coach and teacher, John, cheering Aaron on. BTW, coach John asked Aaron after the meet to design the team’s logo!

Here is Aaron, crossing the finish line, flying hair and all. Even though we got it cut last week, it seems like he has a horse’s mane here in this shot. Ok, I admit I think this looks kind of cool. He cut a 14:51.6 for the two miles in the cold rain, which gives him a 7:26 per mile pace. John was really impressed by this, and told Aaron so. Because I’m such a competitive person, I had to see how long it was until his next team mate crossed the line, about 2:30 later. I’m pretty sure both Aaron and Adam would smoke me if we went running together, but I can’t wait to try, once my knee heals. I think it would be fun to run with them. They would try really hard to drop their Dad, and their Dad would try really hard not to get dropped. We be perfect training partners.

PS: when I last wrote about Adam’s running last year, I mentioned that he was using my running shoes. Guess who’s running in them now? Reuse, recycle…

General, take us to DEFCON 2

Actually, it’s not that bad. He seems conscientious, if not a little timid. But I’ll fix that. And I am proud of him: he scored a 96 on the written exam, highest in his class. And in exchange for the inevitable ‘help’ he’s gonna receive from me in the passenger seat, I’ve allowed and encouraged him to criticize MY driving. So far, he’s busted me on a couple of things, so it works out. Him paying attention to me makes me feel better about his own driving. I’ve already promised him we’re gonna find a parking lot and learn what it’s like to stomp the brakes as hard as he can, feel the ABS(in this case), and not be afraid to do just that when necessary. On the opposite end of the spectrum, I hope to take him drag racing. Also, I hope to find an autocross somewhere, so he learns the limits of what the car can and cannot do. Not enough people know where the limits are, and are either afraid to approach them when necessary, or cross them altogether unintentionally. Mom, it’s my kid, my house, my rules.

Oh, and before I forget, I want to thank my own father, who, years ago, simply handed me and my brothers the keys when it was our turn to take the wheel. I don’t recall any backseat driving, or yelling, or panicking. I do remember one day, while Dad was working at the baseball fields at St Thomas Moore, he let me drive the Chevy around the parking lot, practicing braking, turning, using the signals with no other car in sight. I must have looked a fool, but I didn’t care, and neither did my dad. I hope I can be as pleasant to Adam as my dad was to me. Alas, for those of you who know me, don’t hold your breath. “General, take us…”