When I was twelve and playing Pee Wee hockey, I scored a goal in every game for a while. Game after game, I was in the right place at the right time. It was one of the best times in my life. The only way it could have been better would have been seeing my father in the stands at a game. However, he worked two jobs and he never had time for things like that. He paid for the hockey, but never did come to a game.
One winter, during my hockey years, he got some wood, framed up a small area in the backyard, and lined it with plastic sheeting. Then he filled it with water which froze. It was a tiny skating rink. It was too small to do much and there was actually better ice in a nearby swamp. Still, my father had built it for me, and that meant something.
Our relationship became strained after I grew up. There were times when I went negative when I thought about him. Now, I choose to think about the little skating rink he built for me. I wish I had a picture of it. My father worked a lot and he was a good provider. I’m very fortunate to have had the father I had.