Growing up in NC, I remember the days when my father would come home and we would pass a football back and forth. He had played in High School, and I know he had dreams of me following in his footsteps. He did all he could to help me along the way. Every Friday night we were at the Cherryville High School football game—home or away—pulling for the Ironmen. We weren’t very good, but we always had a good time. On Saturday mornings we would load into my Uncle Hugh’s station wagon and make our way to Clemson for football games. They weren’t very good back then either!
But my football career was not to be. After breaking my arm in the 8th grade I hung up my cleats and picked up a tennis racket. The football glory for the family went to my little brother Tom.
That is how it is “down south.” The same thing holds true north of the border. Dads do all they can to help their sons on the way—only here, it isn’t football. (Up here it is a strange game with two 50 yard lines and people are always moving before the snap, and there aren’t cheerleaders or bands, or even boiled peanuts! How do they even call it football!)
No, it is different. Here it is hockey! There is a wonderful Tim Horton’s commercial right now with Wayne Gretzky that you just have to watch with a tissue! Hockey is king. So I wasn’t that surprised when I saw our neighbor had constructed a rink in their front yard for their son—who is almost 4!
It has taken a while for it to get cold enough, but now….
Someday I will say, “I remember when Carter started skating in the front yard!”