Thursday on the Patio (Part 5)

"One more round"
  Nothing made him feel better than when he had time for just one more. He knew it would leave him feeling a little fuzzy and probably lead to more than one nightcap when he got home, but he couldn't help himself.
  These post work retreats to the patio at the local chain restaurant were always a little disappointing and the selection of beer was at best a disaster of light and overpriced macro beers with one or two 'blah' craft beers tossed in to appeal to no one in particular. His craft beer pals avoided places like this with a passion and his workmates didn't get all the fuss about something as pedestrian as beer. But for appearances sake and to keep up his position at work, he would join in this near the end of the week ritual and its cheap buckets of Corona that made everyone else so happy.
  The menus at these places were a jumble of slogans, symbols and terrible jokes that made him long for a well made burger and a strong IPA. The nachos were heaped but the quality matched the price and always made him consider whether he hated himself enough to wash it down with more quasi beer in an attempt to look like a normal, well adjusted person. Fried appetizers appeared and someone made a comment about corporate that drew gales of laughter from the group. He had missed the joke but knew how to play along and guffawed like a jackass before he pounded yet another watered down version of a beer he would never love.
  He longed for a return to the taproom, it was but minutes down the road. He tried once to take everyone there, but they struggled with trying the different styles and complained about the lack of fishbowl sized mixed drinks and overflowing $10 buckets of beer. He lacked the nuance or conviction to educate people and went along with them as they returned to their routine and the banality of mass produced food and beer.
  He knew them to be good people, solid parents and in most cases, contributing members of society. He was none of these but he played a part as best he could, only occasionally slipping up and having a few too many. He was a happy drunk, but a sloppy one and these little forays into suburban culture taught him how to cover his latent asshole tendencies and drink with some kind of moderation. But to be honest, a half dozen Corona's didn't do that much, so the shot of whisky he grabbed while saying he had to hit the washroom left a glow on his face belied by the tepid beer in front of him. No glass, just pump a lime into the bottle, turn it round and drink.
  For most people, the hour or so spent on this patio represented a break from the duties of home, a stolen moment laughed about as ditching responsibility but never over done and always home before the sun got too low. They had all long ago made the transition to proper adulthood and gone on merrily to that life with open arms. No regrets and a future of 40 hours a week and a couple of vacations at the beach with the kids until it was time to retire. Milestones met along the way marking progress and finally validation of a life well lived. On this point, he envied them, feeling the weight of his increasing age pulling him down and the only milestone he was looking forward to was the pie in the sky dream of travelling to Europe to explore beer in a way he dreamed of.
  He came round from his ruminations to see the party was breaking up, dinner time was calling and so too were the multitude of sports everyone's children seemed to play. Coach Mom or Dad jackets were stored in the SUV and as he said his good byes until tomorrow, he waited until the last person climbed into their symbols of success and headed back into the bar, having decided not to ruin great beer by trying to drink it after this day. One more round and he could Uber home and fall into an intermittent slumber with a feeling that maybe tomorrow he'd find a way to make it better, to make it work again.
 

The Front Porch

When I was a kid, we played outside, a lot. My mom would shoo us out on warm summer days, cool fall or snowing winter ones and we'd head off on adventures not possible today. We wandered all over the neighbourhood, climbed trees and played in places we thought only we knew about. Riding our bikes everywhere with lunches tucked into our back packs, we would return home dirty and tired but oh so happy with stories and excitement from a day of freedom. We had the life but little did we know that there were always eyes on us and our parents knew where we were more than we thought.
 Growing up in the late 70's and early 80's was a time when people still sat on their front porches and neighbours looked out for each other and their own with the same care. We didn't hide in our yards like today, closed off and independent of the world. We were connected to those around us by a network of phones, open doors and hellos. The people who lived next to you were an extension of your parents and you were respectful of them just because. We would feel like we ruled the neighbourhood and felt safe without even knowing it.
  I think back to those days and wonder if that transition from sitting out front to the secluded fenced-in back yard has done some real harm to how we live our lives. I feel less connected to my current town and I've lived here longer than anywhere else in my life. When we first moved in I tried to emulate the memories of my youth and sat on the front porch most days after work, trying to connect with the people around me. I'd say hello to the neighbours as they hurried from their cars to the front doors of their homes, busy with their lives and routines. I found the street empty most days, despite the presence of young families, most stayed in their yards or at structured play at an indoor play place. Kids don't wander free despite the fact that the world around us, at least theoretically, has never been safer. Connected by cell phone, we should be encouraging more outside time not less. As the years went on, I would spend fewer nights out front and the ubiquitous back deck was built. I love what my Grotto has become, the refuge from the world and a place of great happiness for me, but I still lament the passing of that community feeling the front porch gave us.
  We didn't know that as we rode around the streets of East Hamilton the network of Mom's, Granny's and others at home was at work. Looking for fun, we would spin around the school yard, creek and fields, having fun and creating our own worlds wherever we went. From building forts to racing down dangerously steep hills, we didn't think anyone was watching and were thrilled to be so free. But the reality is that we were always just one door away from help if trouble arose, you knew who you could run to when you needed it. It's probably a bit of nostalgia but a whole lot of reality as we see the elaborate yards people have built, hiding and cocooning away from the world. We don't reach out like we used to, no one would dare dream discipline or yell at kids today like was done when I was young. You knew if you did something wrong and got caught by the neighbour, your parents would come down on you with a vengeance. We had a connection that belied anything but giving a shit about where you lived. They did it because it was right and made the world a better place.
  I'm not sure when it all went south, but I know in my heart that part of the transformation was the building of monster houses with tiny backyards that were almost all deck. High fences to keep out prying eyes, we turned inward at the expense of community and we are poorer for it. I wish I could say if we had kids I would be different but I am probably kidding myself because that infection of perceived danger has made its' way into my life as well. I have become the guy who comes home, gets comfy and lives for the routine life lived in the yard. Devoid of a connection, our world has shrunk and we are poorer for it.
 I am sure there are great neighbourhoods out there, awesome neighbours who hang out and have fun, but in the larger picture, this is becoming an anomaly. I observe how people interact and see the closed doors and fences becoming more prevalent not less. We trust fewer people and hold closer the small nuclear family, leaving the world to others. Scared by the media and perceived threats, the leash of childhood freedom has been choked back to the yard and other supervised places, never to return. It makes me sad and I don't know what to do about it.
  Can we ever go back? Am I just pining for "the Good Old days"? Or am I really seeing the future as it is. Have we retreated to our castles, drawn the bridge and filled the moat. Protecting kids from harm is what we say, but are we depriving them of experiences that would help them grow as people by hiding from the world and not being part of the larger community. I wave to everyone I meet and say hello, I have long been taught to make the small talk required to build friendship and that came from how I was raised. We wanted to know our neighbours because they were part of our lives, celebrating the highs and coming together for support when things weren't so good. Is it different now? Ithink it is and I know we are lessened because of it. Maybe it's time I start sitting on the front stoop again, at least then I'm trying to do something positive and maybe I'll make a new friend or two. See you out there, stop in for a coffee, I've got the time.


Polk

They used to call me Coach

Simply the Best.

Standing behind the bench will always be one of my favourite memories. Coaching hockey occupied everything about my life from 1987 to 1995 and there will always be a spot in my heart for those teams that became my extended family for 7 months a year. Looking back now, I long not only for those simpler days, but for the time when I could feel the vast and open possibilities of the future.

My seven years as a Hockey Coach run right through some of the most difficult, joyous and interesting times of my life. This are how I see them now, through the lens of nostalgia, tinged with love and a little bit of regret.

Goalie Coach (1988/89)

At 15, coaching was becoming my life.

It started after I had been playing for a couple of years and was coming to the realisation that my playing career (I wrote about it here) was soon to be over. My skills never quite matched my heart but I didn't want to walk away from the ice completely. We had become increasingly more involved at our local minor hockey association in  Stoney Creek and in 1988, I was asked by Al Kaine to help out with his goalies. I was so happy to help pass on some of my knowledge, as little as that was at the time, and leaped in with both feet. Mom or Dad had to drive me to the games still as I was only 15, but they did it because they could see how passionately I loved the game and knew it was good for me to be involved in the community. Al was a proponent of fast and aggressive attacking hockey and along with my minor hockey coach, Sid Nelson and later on, mentor Rick Ferroni, was instrumental in helping to form my style behind the bench. It was a glimpse into what I could do with my mind and of course the ever present numbers ( I was into stats way before today's obsession with them) to help shape strategy and plot a winning game plan.

Getting My Feet Wet (1989/90)

The very next season, Dad and my Uncle Jim volunteered to coach a team with my middle brother Dave on it and I went along with them as an assistant coach. It was also the year that I ended up with my own team as my little brother Mike needed a coach and I leapt at the chance to get behind the bench with a few of my pals.

I was always a student of the game and I strived to learn all about not just the skills I could teach, but ways to motivate and inspire these two groups of young people. From my own experience with both good and bad coaches, I took the lessons and applied them to myself when I grabbed the whistle. I swore to be true to who I was and treat each kid fairly, be demanding of performance but ultimately try to be a positive influence in their lives. I took courses to become a better coach and worked to bring interesting and new drills to practice to help them improve.

Coaching my first team with my pals, Kevin, Kyle and Mike.

That season saw many things occur, including The Party (read about it here) that changed the direction of my life and my first Championship as a coach. The Penguins finished last in the standings, but led the league in parties and it was fun to be able to help my brother Mike, a goalie, continue his development. Brother Dave's Pee Wee team was another story altogether and was a juggernaut in the playoffs. Led by Dave's swift skating and aggressive defence, this team was a throwback to the teams I had played on a few years earlier. Fiercely loyal to each other and never afraid to take it to the other team, these kids became an extension of my philosophy of going after what you want with reckless abandon. I will always have a special place for this team in my heart because it cemented my path after I stopped playing the next year.

These guys won it all. Dad and Uncle Jim brought out the best in them.

The Lost Year (1990/91)

1990 brought many changes to my life and I was behind the bench again coaching Mike's team as we moved into the Pee Wee division (12/13 year olds). I was in and out of my parents house at this point and it probably led to the teams struggles because I was not able to focus on doing my best. I always regret that year of my life, not only because of the hardship I put on my family and friends with my behaviour, but because I can't really remember much about this team. It wasn't a championship team but as '90 turned to '91 I started to get my own act together and the next season was to be the start of a two year run that gave me hope about a future in hockey.

Things Start to Come Together (1991/92)

An almost dream season and where I found my best coaching and managing
team.

Having cleaned up myself and returning to school, I was a little more focused as the 1991 season began. Once again coaching my brother Mike, I was joined behind the bench by my best friend, Kevin, who had been with me since the beginning and brother Dave, who handled the defense that was our hallmark. Mom came aboard as manager and she was the glue that helped form an amazing group of parents who were vocal and enthusiastic in their support. I began wearing a sport coat and tie to emulate a more successful approach and it worked. Look good, feel good was true then and now. I worked hard to create a positive environment and with my assistant coaches, built our practices into skill sessions that took us near the top of the standings. We won the local Christmas tournament with Mike playing perhaps one of his finest games ever in a 3-0 win that we were outshot 29-10 in. I'll never forget the smile on his face after that one.

Come playoff time, we took on my first real "rival" coach, Harper Appleton. While time has taught me that is a pretty funny thing to think that about another volunteer coach in minor hockey, at 18, I was full bore to beat this guy. We met in the semi-finals and our defense nullified their high scoring forwards with Mike doing yeoman's service in net. We moved onto the final and lost the first game of a 3 game series in overtime. A few days off before game 2 and I was boiling over with enthusiasm. I knew our strategy and close knit team were going to win despite the loss and my gut told me to go all out in my pre game speech. My old coach, Sid, had told me you couldn't try to gear the players up to high before every game and to be judicious when you brought in the big guns of motivation and inspiration. The next two games were not close (5-2 and 7-0) and it was a bit of a preview of what was to be my favourite team and year of coaching I was ever to have.

My Best Year Behind the Bench (1992/93)

The best team I ever coached. Period. Full stop.

The 1992 season dawned as the year I really felt I came into my own and began to coach with a true passion. I took a job working night shifts so I could be completely focused on hockey and it was a good move. The 1992/93 Bantam (14/15 year olds) Stoney Creek Lightning will always remain the very fondest memory of my time as a coach and it was equal parts the success, parent support and players who gave it their all. This was to be the height of my personal joy and it was once again the same people helping make it possible. Dave, Kevin and Mom were back with me and we knew that our success of the year before was but a taste of what we could do. Led by Mike in net, this was a talented but not easily corralled group of kids. I had purposely took on some of the players other coaches felt were troubled and difficult to coach because I knew I could get to them, help them and by extension the team have an amazing year. We started off a little rough as I tried to find the right motivation for each kid, but when the season really got going I could feel the team gelling and coming together. These kids quickly bonded and were often responsible for keeping each other honest. Lack of effort was the only sin I preached against and rarely did that happen. My "rival", Harper, was once again in the same league and after a loss in the Christmas tournament in overtime and his team leading us in the standings, he looked to have the upper hand. I felt the team was drifting, winning and losing with equal effort and it was after a loss to a team from nearby Grimsby (we played in a loop with a few other small communities), in which their goalie was late and they played with an empty net for half the game and six players on the ice. My guys had thought it would be an easy win and played selfishly, trying for goals instead of working as a team. I said nothing after the loss and when we hit the ice the next morning at 6 a.m. for practice, I told them to toss their sticks into a pile at center ice. Happily thinking we were going to scrimmage, they were shocked when Kevin and Dave calmly picked them up and took all their sticks and the pucks to the bench. I then told them that if they didn't want to play as a team and work together like we had seen the night before, they didn't need sticks. Thus began the one and only time I bag skated my team. Nothing but skating drills for the entire hour, followed by a heart to heart meeting after changed the course of our season. We never lost another game for the rest of the year, going 15 and 0. The commitment level, closeness and desire on this team came together and we just didn't win, we dominated. The Interlock playoffs saw us win 7 games by a combined score of 37 to 10, including an 9 to1 win in the finals. Our local Stoney Creek playoffs were pretty much a walk as we won 5 games straight, scoring 32 and only giving up 8. Defeating league leading and once again rival coach Harper in the City final was the icing on the cake as our season finished with an 8-1 Championship game win. One of my favourite players and fiercest competitors, Donnie Stacey scored 4 shorthanded goals and shutdown the league's leading scorer in the process. This was the year I thought seriously that coaching was going to be where I would stake my claim to hockey glory and the next season I took a step forward while also stepping back.

Moving on Up (1993/94)

As the 1993 season began, I had taken a role with one of my mentors, Rick Ferroni coaching a rep team in Minor Atom (10 year olds). It represented that step up I mentioned, as this was a higher level of competitive hockey. The step backward was going from head to assistant coach/manager. It was evident that I needed some guidance to be able to move up in the coaching ranks and my experience with this team was an eye opener. The parents were a lot more intense, the games seemed to take on more importance and the kids under a little more pressure. I brought my style of interactive coaching with me and learned from Rick the importance of not only skating drills, but doing things that others never would. We used some unorthodox Russian inspired drills and I was also left with the teams goalies as my charges. I hope we imparted some skills and made them not only better players but people in that first season of rep hockey for us. Both Rick and I were rehabilitating our often short tempers with those we disagreed and working together, we quickly discovered our common love of seeing the kids get better and of course, winning. Ultimately we fell short of our goal, but I was excited when we were awarded the Major Pee Wee team in AAA the next season, as it represented the highest level of competitive Minor hockey and a true step toward my goal of professional coaching.

The Last Season (1994/95)

1994 was to be my last year coaching. I was now coaching two rep teams, with my own Head coaching gig of an Atom A team to go along with my duties to Rick and the AAA Pee Wee team.

Over 100 games and an equal number of practices to go along with travelling all over the province and a full time night shift job at Tim Horton's was heaven to me and I could feel the strength of my future coalescing every time I took to the ice or got behind the bench. Both teams made the finals of their respective leagues but were ultimately unsuccessful in winning it all. Coaching at the higher levels was indeed giving me inspiration and I had plans to take even more advanced coaching courses to increase not only my knowledge, but my chances of someday finding myself behind the bench full time and getting paid to do so.

It was the end of one path and the beginning of another.

  

The End of Coaching (1995)

Life, of course, had other plans for me and it was while I was winding down this season and preparing for the next that I met someone who would help shape a new direction in my life. I was never one to do anything in half measures and when I fell in love for the first time, it was with everything I had. My choices in life have never been overly logical, often done with passion as opposed to thought and I abandoned my old dreams for new ones over the objections of my love. I should have taken her support of my coaching dream and listened when she implored me to keep at it. I unwisely didn't and will always wonder what would have been had kept my spot on the bench while learning to love.

But time is a great healer and to this day I'll run into a former player and he'll call me Coach. That is what makes me smile the most about my time as a leader and teacher of young people; to know I made a difference to some of these kids and I am humbled by their love, many years later.

Perhaps my own management style is patterned after my coaching one, I was always a players coach and to this day always work hard to build a team and help those in my charge achieve their goals at work and in life. Hockey taught me a lot and I hope one day to be able to give back a fraction of that.

The game will always mean more to me than the score and if you want to know the truth, there are times when I am slowly drifting off and I can hear the scrape of the blades on the ice, the slap of the puck off the boards and see myself on the bench one more time.

Cheers!





Growing Up Happy - Part 1

My Childhood

That hair!

My childhood was wholly unremearkable. Please don't try to misconstrue that in any way other than positive. I was lucky and privileged enough to be born in a time when one parent could stay home and manage the household on a single salary. My father worked at Stelco, the local steel mill, and my mother was the one who stayed with us, being on call for 4 kids whenever we needed her. Not wealthy, but decidedly middle class, we grew up never wanting for the basics and occasionally splurging on luxuries. Growing up in a large family and being the oldest meant I knew responsibility early and was always on the lookout for my brothers and sister.



So young and over 40 years later, still beautiful.

My earliest memories play around the edges of real or nostalgia. All day bike rides with our only connection to home being that it was our neighbourhood and the people who lived there looked out for one another. We had to be home for dinner, but lunch would often be some sandwiches and a precious can of pop tucked into your backpack. Out again as soon as the dishes were done, we would pause only when the streetlights came on and begrudgingly head home, with promises to meet up with our friends the next day.

Pictures were a luxury, as you had no idea if they turned out and getting the film produced cost money that would be better spent on groceries or the ever growing kids in our family. Yet we have album after album of smiling faces, family events and road trips that brought so much joy to our lives. We may have thousands of pictures on our computers now, but none of them compare to those dusty photos of 4 kids and their parents having fun. Smiling faces and happy eyes make me see just how much my parents gave us.

That time we met Gordie Howe!

Summer meant vacation and for my mom, that meant no rest from the demands of 4 busy kids. She always kept us moving, taking us on day trips, making sure we ate and engaging our obsessions, which would change from day to day as we found new and exciting things happening in the world. Our house was often the focal point for all of our friends as its joyful demeanour was a respite from their own chaotic lives. The pool was always full and one of the first outdoor responsibilities that we learned after gardening was if you wanted to have your friends over, you had to vacuum the pool. It prepared me for the many parties I would host over the decades. Always make the house ready and you can enjoy your time with friends. No one was ever turned away from that house on Glassco, the door swung open at all hours and even though I was a kid, I knew my parents were constantly helping those who needed it.

Still cute together and always up for an adventure

Occasionally and with great anticipation, we would go away for a vacation. I can't even begin to imagine the logistics of packing 4 kids, sometimes a dog and all their perceived needs into a car and either going camping or in later years to my Aunt Jennette's cottage in Wasaga Beach. These trips were extra special because it meant that Dad didn't have to work and we could spend some time with him away from the stress of his job. Like most kids whose mother stayed home and father worked, I didn't understand how hard they both worked and it is only with the wisdom of age that I see what they did. A vacation for us kids meant beaches, swimming and other sunny adventures. For my mom, it meant taking care of the 5 of us in another place with more dirt and less amenities. But we never knew or felt that. She always smiled and made sure we were taken care of first. I don't think she ate a hot meal for most of our trips and always put our enjoyment first. It was selfless then and I can't help but marvel at how we never knew she was working so hard to make our lives so much fun. 

Dad always manned the BBQ and of course the Pie - Irons (essentially a cast iron sandwich maker that you use in the hot coals of the fire). Perhaps a beer in hand, he loved to grill up whatever mom had brought and if you were lucky, he'd let you have a little taste of what was cooking. I know now how hard he worked to provide us with everything we needed and the skills he taught me have made me the man I am today. While I inherited his quick temper, I also heeded his wisdom on how to contain it. We were always the focus of his attention, the jokes, stories and he was an involved presence at everything we did. Being a father in the late 70's and early 80's was far different than it is now and his very attentive and sympathetic way of listening and offering advice was years ahead of its time.Our later conflicts brought on more by our similarities than our differences, but the bond forged in my childhood never let me doubt his love.

The boys are forever best friends.
We may not see each other often, but the love is always there.

 All of these memories come from that warm place inside my heart. I can feel the love I was given and the safe embrace of home still resonates today. The things we did as a family and the happiness it created are what saved me when I was at my lowest years later. I always joke that any mistakes I made in life are no ones fault but my own because I had such an easy going childhood and a set of parents who supported me even when I didn't deserve it. All of this happened in a simple house, on a suburban street with two people who gave everything they had to make sure their kids grew up with a sense of family and joy at being part of something bigger than yourself.

Thank you Mom and Dad for always making us your priority, then and now.

 Your dedication to your family is a big part of why I smile when I think back to those days on Glassco and the glory of my youth.

 

The family has grown and the love has multiplied.