Leap of Faith - One Polk's Dream..

 

I look into the mirror every morning and I see a tired man looking back at me. I am old at being young, but young at being old (to quote The Barenaked Ladies), but I feel every year sometimes. Life is rolling along at an ever increasing clip and as a blue collar guy who left high school and has worked in a variety of customer service jobs over the last 30 years, I don't have much in the way of plans for the future. Little savings from being self employed for 13 of those years and working for chains that don't offer retirement packages means I am most likely to work till I am well into my 70's or until I keel over at the grill one day. The prospect of another 30 years spent grinding out 50 hour work weeks with 2 off for good behaviour seems daunting at times as the entirety of my life will be spent working to just stay put. Not an appetizing thought by any means and I lack the self discipline or guts to trim my life to the basics so as to save and retire a bit earlier on a modest budget. But one day I had a thought, perhaps I could "retire" for a few years now while I can enjoy it and then toil away my remaining years with the wonderful memories I could create.
  How's that now, you ask yourself?
  Well, admittedly it isn't the smartest plan or the most stable but it is a dream to dream each night.
  We bought our house about 12 years ago, right before the market went ape-shit. Coming in at a very reasonable price, we looked at it as our forever home where we would raise our child (to come soon after) and enjoy the life we were building. A simple 2 bedroom home with a huge yard and room to grow, we hosted parties,a wedding and so much more before life got really complicated after I lost my business in 2012. The struggle to stay afloat was real but after a time, we found our footing and on we went. The real blow was when we found out that it wasn't in the cards for us to have kids, tough to swallow that one I will tell you, but once again, we refocused and strode on into the night with our sights on tomorrow.
  But I did get tired of it all some days. I looked at a future where we just keep doing the same things, day in and day out, a fait acompli until I take my leave of this mortal coil and no longer care. This cannot be all there is and one day, a mad plan, a decidedly crazy and unabashedly irresponsible plan popped into my head when I was a few pints in.
  We sell the house.
  Travel the world for 2 or 3 years.
  Come back and resume our lives, but with the tales and memories to carry us to the end while we still can enjoy them.
  Simply put, as madness usually thinks of itself, the profit from the sale of our house is going to exceed $300,000 and while we do have decent jobs, they are nothing we couldn't find again after a few years away. I don't have a career that needs saving, a life worth living should be lived well and hard. This is what I proposed one evening...
 We take half of what me make, maybe a little more and just go.  Leave with the wind at our backs and don't stop until we have to come back to ground and resume this life lived proper and true to what is expected.
We would head to Europe for a few months first, chasing beer dreams from Belgium to Germany and the Czech Republic. Drinking Belgian Trappist beers in taverns across from the monastery that produced them, sitting in a German Bierhaus during Oktoberfest and crushing Pilsner Urqhell on the patio in Pilsen would no longer be a dream and without a rigid travel timeline, we would be free to explore at our own will.
  Returning across the Atlantic, we would embark on the most ambitious part of my "retirement" plan; Polkapolooza : North America. Buying a truck and a trailer, we would start our journey in Newfoundland, exploring the local craft beer and food scene in every province and territory in Canada as we travelled across this great land. Timing stops for cultural events that pique our interest, we would search out experiences that will give us the memories promised but left unfilled in an uncertain future. Perhaps a year or so spent driving and stopping in to visit anywhere we fancy before we turn south and visit our friends and neighbours in the United States to do more of the same.
  Rather than looking for a reason or a purpose, we will simply go where the wind takes us and live the life that we cannot expect as our years advance. There will be no lazy senior days for this guy and this rather wacky and wholly un-thought out plan remains a dream that tantalizes my soul when the days get dark and the future a muddled mess of repetitive convention. Is it idiocy or madness that drives me to contemplate taking a risk and just letting go of all the routine and "correct" things we are supposed to do? Sure, a little of both but I do know one thing for sure, I was not born to just work until I die and pay bills.
  There you have it. The flights of fancy of a middle aged dreamer who will head back to work tomorrow with a little glimmer of what may be, even if that's all he has to keep him going.

Cheers!

Polk

The Goalie Years - My 5 years in Net

1985 was a good year.

I was, many many years ago, a hockey player. A goalie to be precise and while I only played for 5 seasons, I look back with great nostalgia on those days. I can remember strapping the pads on for the first time at age 12, nervous and scared, I could barely skate. Growing up as a bookworm who caught the hockey bug late will do that and wobbling out onto the ice, I probably spent more time on my ass than on my feet. But I was in love from the first scent of those musty, heavy leather pads and I persisted, getting back up every time. The first moment I took my place in the rectangle to guard the net is fresh in my mind and the whack of the puck as I made my first glove save brings a smile to my face even now.

That 1985/86 hockey season was eye opening for our whole family. We had been part of a 10 pin bowling league but were not prepared for the close knit and sometimes political minor hockey world. But for that first year, it was pure joy. Early morning Saturday games, snacks at the concession stand and a big lunch afterwards of fresh crusty buns and deli meat are the things I wish to recreate when I close my eyes and reminisce. Tournaments meant a weekend spent at the arena with the real treat for us kids, lunch or dinner at a McDonalds's, something that was very rare for our family back in those days. Car rides to the arena and spending time together when we didn't realise we'd eventually grow up and long for those easy days again are but two of the things I wish I could have realised. I know we lost more games than we won that first year, but I was dutiful in trying to get better. I turned to books for help and had a battered copy of legendary NHL goalie Jacques Plante's book that was my everything. His passion for the position was matched by my own and I will always be a fan for his knowledge and wish to spread it to anyone who wanted to improve.

My first team picture

I had been dropped down to a younger division in my first season because of my obvious lack of skill and figured to play the next year with my friends of the same age, but that was not to be. For whatever reason, a lack of goalies, my own bravado and confidence, I skipped right past the PeeWee (12/13) league and into the much tougher Bantam (14/15) division. Looking back, I think I must have been crazy, but it proved to be the greatest season of my very short career. 

Winning with these guys meant everything to 14 year old me.

It was on this team I encountered the man who would influence my later decision to coach and become a leader instead of sitting back. Sid Nelson was a brash, loud guy who was first and foremost a motivator of young men. He taught me about the psychology of the game, instilling a passion that forever remains with me. He believed in me, even when there were times I struggled to keep up with my older teammates or the stronger shots from the other team. One player in particular, Donny Sawchuk, took me under his wing and despite being a quiet young man, was fierce in his defense of his teammates and played with such vigor, I always tried to match him. When we won the two-game, total goal Championship 9-7, I remember being mobbed by my teammates and that feeling of being the best at something, even a house league champion, is with me, warm and happy, to this day.
Our sponsor was a father of one of the other players and when we went to their place for the end of the year party, he presented us with real Championship rings. I wore that proudly for many years and to my regret lost it during those tumultuous teenage misadventures I have spoken of before. I wish I could find it, it meant so much to me. But the memories persist so clear, that I will be happy with just them.
The next few years found me realising just how little skill I had. My heart was big, but my ability could not match it. Mom and Dad even sprung for the not inconsiderable cost of hockey schools, but it was pretty apparent that I was becoming more of a teacher than a player.

The Last season, Repping Hometown hockey

Two seasons removed from that glorious run to gold, I was part of the local Rep team, mainly because there were only two of us the proper age to be on the team and it was an eye opening experience to say the least. Representing Stoney Creek in a AA loop of southern Ontario communities was a moment of pride but also when I finally started to turn my eyes towards being behind the bench instead of the ice. At this level, I didn't play much, and my lack of talent made me wonder what I was doing wrong. My goaltending partner that season, John, was outstanding in net and off the ice. He gave me tips and tried to help keep my spirits up as the goals against mounted and my playing time decreased. Particularly memorable was our playing a team from Sweden, a tie game in which John stopped almost 50 shots and I came to the very real vision, sitting on the bench,  that I was not going to play hockey very much longer.
I finished the season out and even went to tryouts the next year, but the writing was on the wall. I had been pulled aside by those running the team to talk about my future. It was put to me that while I would be on the team because there were only two of us the right age again, if I would accept being cut, a younger but infinitely more talented goalie could be brought on board. I had already begun coaching and knew in my head they were right, I didn't belong on that team. But my heart wasn't so sure and I told them I'd think about it and hit the ice for practice. Skating around, taking in the scene and trying to fight back the tears I felt brimming in my eyes, I knew I was done as a goalie. I took my place in net and finished the day with a final stop that funny enough was a glove save. I remember dropping the puck on the ice and saying a silent goodbye to my dreams of making the NHL. Not that I ever really thought I would make it, but when you are a kid, dreams seem so real. I skated off the ice, never again to strap on those pads and guard my net with my body and soul. A little bit of my childhood died that final skate but it did lead me to what was to be my focus and all consuming obsession for the next few years.


My first Head Coaching job, the 1989 Penguins of Stoney Creek

 Becoming a Hockey Coach was so much more than I could have ever envisioned and for many years, it was the path I thought I'd never get off ; until life decided otherwise. But that's a story for another day.
Game on!