The Elephant Ballerina

Throwback from last year when I laced up the skates for the first time in almost 20 years to join my son on the ice.

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Picture if you will a pleasantly plump pachyderm trying to wedge his rotund feet into the minuscule lacings of a delicate ballerina slipper.

That was me tonight.

One would think 50 lbs later, a lifetime of wisdom, and 19 years of being out of the sport I love would be enough to knock the littlest bit sense into me, but alas, I am stubborn....or at the very least, a wishful idiot.

You see, my eldest son Jarret drafted an intense liking to ice hockey about two years ago at the ripe old age of 13. Living in the south, where college football is the second largest denomination, I was quite pleased that my son broke from the norm and took a liking to his Dad's favorite sport. And I was equally happy and excited to see he dove in with a passion.

Unlike those "easy" sports where talent come from simple skills like running, throwing and catching, hockey is completely different. Everyone needs to master a skill that no human is born with, they have to master the art of skating. For those of you unfamiliar with this practice imagine strapping meat cleavers to the soles of your feet, setting off on a frozen surface that was designed for only polar bears and penguins, and learning to accelerate, stop, and turn on a dime. Now throw in a curved stick that is oftentimes used as a weapon and add in a disc-like object made of rubber so hard it will undoubtedly claim two incisors before you're five years in. Ask me... I know!

Needless to say, my son made me proud. He asked fervently throughout the summers to take him ice skating, often paying with his hard-earned allowance. (I'm sorry, but I chuckled when I wrote the word "hard-earned" but don't tell him that!) Anyway, as he entered his freshman year of high school he told me he dreamed of playing for his high school hockey team. Knowing the lag of not playing throughout his childhood would put him far behind others his age, I came up with a brilliant and insanely stupid idea. I told him, "if you play for your high school hockey team, I will strap on the blades once again and play alongside him in an open league.

The brat is on the dam team.

So I kept my word like a good dad does...and I strapped them on tonight.

This is where the pachyderm enters the picture. The last time I played ice hockey was in 1996, almost twenty years ago. One would think my mind would race trying to remember the skills of skating and the intricacies of the most beautiful sport ever created. No. My thoughts were much different.... 

Since when did my feet get so far away from my dang arms? 

And why are these hockey pants so tight?

And why does my old helmet look like a beanie? 

And why can't I get my feet in these dam skates???

Fortunately I survived.

Don't get me wrong. I can't walk now, nor do I expect to until the swelling goes down but at least I didn't make a fool of myself. Oh yes, I threw up a partial piece of my lung and needed help getting up off the bench after the game but that's where my wisdom shined through. You see, I was smart enough to think ahead and take six ibuprofen tablets before the game. In fact, I can guarantee that one simple move is what is allowing me to type this account right now.

Will I feel it in the morning? Absolutely! In fact, I even cancelled a fishing trip with one of my best buds because I figured it would be too strenuous on me the day after. I repeat...FISHING would be too strenuous! Heck, I'm not even sure I will be able to think about fishing tomorrow without hurting.

But guess what?

I survived...and I had the time of my life with my son.

Yes...the elephant ballerina danced again.