Young Writers Society

Every single muscle in the young boy’s body screamed and whined in unison, desperately pleading for a few more minutes of rest. It took all of his might, and all of his determination to drag his tired body from the warm confines of his bed. Light from the hallway seeped into his room from a small crack in the doorway; this was his loving father’s best effort to keep his drowsy son from slipping back to sleep. It was still the wee hours of the morning, far before the sun came out from hiding behind the tall mountains. When the young boy managed to drag himself downstairs to the kitchen, his mother greeted him with a warm smile. She had been awake long before him, and prepared a hearty breakfast full of his favorites: waffles, eggs, bacon and fruit. This Saturday morning tradition is where the boy’s fire for game was built, cared for and nurtured.

After a few reluctant bites of food, a small glass of orange juice, and a kiss from mom, the boy and his father piled into the family van and headed off to the local rink. For the entire ride all the young boy could think about was how much he would rather be in his warm bed. But, as soon as he stepped onto the ice all of his doubt vanished into the noise of clapping sticks, skates carving into the ice, and the thunderous roar of enthusiastic parents who eagerly cheered their children on from the stands. This is where the young boy fire first burned, and where he first fell in love with the game.

As the boy grew, so did his passion for the game. He would practice endlessly on the frozen pond behind his home; playing well before the sun crept out from behind the great mountains and leaving long after it had set. His obsession over the game was only matched by his friends, friends who would regularly make the long trek from the school to the boy’s house to play on the frozen pond behind his house. It was here that their games took on a life of their own, fueled by the children’s endless supply of energy and endearing love for the game. They would play until the cold had had turned their cheeks bright red, until their toes stung in their skates, and until they could no longer feel their hockey sticks in their frozen fingers. This is where the boy’s passion for the game grew into a great flame.

Unfortunately, the boy did not come from great money. His tired father worked hard for his living, braving the cold every morning to deliver the local paper. When he wasn’t delivering mail, the father was shoveling snow with the plow on the front of his old rusted truck. The father certainly didn’t make much, but was proud that he was able to keep a roof over his family’s head, put food on the table, and most importantly that he was able to put his son in the local hockey league. The young boy was grateful for his father’s hard work, but was felt ashamed of the equipment he had to wear. His equipment were ancient relics, air looms passed down from many generation of family. He had gloves from an older cousin, a helmet from his father’s uncle, and a shabby worn-down pair of skates that his grandfather had worn when he was only a young boy. Children would often snicker at the boy when they saw his on the ice, and parents would half-heartedly joke that his equipment belonged in a museum. The young boy was very embarrassed, and did not practice on the frozen pond behind his house very often anymore. This is where the boy’s fire for the game dwindled.

The boy’s embarrassment would forever change the next year. After crashing into the boards because his skates had finally given out on him, the boy’s father decided to take action. Instead of spending the money he had saved up for several months to take his family on a vacation, the father took his son down to the local hockey store, where the owner promised him that he would give him the best deal he could offer. The boy picked out the flashiest, most expensive pair of skates in the whole store. And he loved them every inch of them. The skates would change the boy. For the next few months, he spent every single waking moment he had practicing on the frozen pond behind his house. The boy’s confidence soared and now when he would fly up and down the ice at the town’s local rink, children and parents would line up on the glass to cheer and see the boy skate. This is where the boy’s dwindling passion for the game was rekindled into the great flame it had once been before.

Over the next couple years, the boy and his skates spent many hours dancing together on the frozen pond behind his house. He practically lived on the frozen pond. However, much the disappointment of the boy, he was forced to stand and watch as his friends grew bigger and bigger. It seemed the bigger they got, the smaller he felt. The little boy was incredibly undersized for his age; even the average-sized children his age were ad least a foot taller and twenty pounds heavier than him. Despite this great disadvantage, the boy was noticeably more talented than any kid in the hockey league. He skated with such grace, and he was so aware of his positioning on the ice that he avoided any serious collisions. The little boy led his team in goals, won the championship trophy, and was named the league most outstanding player. This is where the boy’s small success led to false confidence created a great fire that would burn too brightly in the years to follow.

Things stayed relatively the same for the boy, up until he started his first year of high school. By this point, the boy had lost many of his friends because he was boastful, and they had become jealous of his skill. Now, he was left alone to practice on the lonely frozen pond behind his house. At first it bothered the boy, but he grew to enjoy the solidarity. It was in these moments of silent practice where he developed as a player. The boy had still not grown substantially yet, and this worried him. Every night, his father would return from a long day of work to console the with a friendly pat on the shoulder,

“One day boy, you will grow big and tall, just like your dad.”

He tried his very best to reassure his worried son. And the boy tried his very hardest to believe him, but that day never came. The boy would remain small, and eventually his size caught up to him. High school hockey was much more physical than the recreational style of play he had become accustomed to in his local league. No matter how hard the boy practiced, he could not avoid his size. Players would push him around. The young boy grew increasingly aggravated; he had never experienced this kind of struggle before. Despite his coach’s orders, he refused to change his play style to accommodate his small size. This led to many heated arguments, where the boy and his coach would stand screaming at each other until they both turned blue in the face. The disagreements became too great and too frequent, and eventually, the boy would get kicked off the varsity hockey team; he would never let go of the sting and the bitterness this caused him. This is where the young boy tried to put out the fire, and decided that hockey was longer going to be apart of his life.

The most talented boy in the town would spend the rest of the year locked inside of his house, refusing to come out. He watched in the spring time as the frozen pond melted behind his house. He could not bring himself to come to a hockey game, because of the embarrassment he felt when looking at his childhood friends having the time of their lives without him. He made a vow to himself that he would never pick up his hockey stick again. Despite his father’s best efforts, the boy refused to play hockey. He was simply too ashamed to come back to the game that had betrayed him. This is where the boy believed that his fire had died, and when he wanted to walk away from the game he had once so highly cherished, for the rest of his life.

It took until his junior year of high school, but slowly and surely, the boy came inching back. It was impossible to harbor such strong feelings of resentment to the game he once called his life. When one of the team’s top players went down with a broken foot, the boy was the first to volunteer to take his spot. However, the coach didn’t have a short memory, and hesitated to take him. It took much pleading and eventually he relented, on the condition that the boy would be kicked off the team if he caused any problems. The boy graciously agreed. He worked hard, practicing twice as much as any on the team, but was only a shadow of his former self on the ice. He had finally grown, but now felt smaller than ever. However, unlike in previous years where his weakness would drive him away, his weakness pushed him forward. This is where the boy rebuilt his fire with embers that glowed hotter than ever before.

The boy spent the next couple months obsessing over the game. This time he had a plan, and he doubled his efforts in practice and in the weight room. With the help of the team’s trainer, the boy put on ten pounds of muscle, and regained his touch on the ice. The team went on to succeed better than anyone could have imagined. With the boy’s help, the team went undefeated for the remainder of the season, and was off to their first provincial tournament in years. Back at home it was a much different story. After years of providing for the family, his father’s old body was slowly and painfully breaking down. He had been stuck in his bed for weeks now, with excruciating hip pain and a terrible flu. The boy felt obligated to stay home and care for his aging parents, but his father would have none of it. The last words he ever spoke to his son were:

“Go play son, make us proud. Give me something to smile about when I wake up in the morning.”

Stricken with guilt, the boy had a difficult time leaving his weakened old father and this reflected in his play. The boy was determined to play well on his father’s behalf, but could not drag the image of his frail father out of his head. He played the tournament like a ghost, floating around the ice, just pretending to be there. It was impossible to go un-noticed and it didn’t take long for his coach to embarrass him out in front of the entire team, blasting him for his poor work ethic and lack of character. The boy and the coach would never mend their broken relationship. Without the boy’s stellar play, the team got demolished in the tournament. Nobody knew about the boy’s dying father, and nobody would forgive the boy for his poor play. It was the longest twelve-hour bus ride home that the boy had ever experienced. When he got home, his elderly mother was waiting for him with tears in her eyes; the boy’s father had passed while he was gone. The pain was far too great, and the boy would never forgive the game that had betrayed him once again. This is where the fire died for the young boy.

The boy would once again return to the sidelines, like his brief stint with the team had only been a dream. He would watch as the game passed him by; he could not bear to be apart of hockey. He would see his teammates smiling faces, as they went on to win the provincial tournament the next year. He would read the newspaper clipping of his former coach; he went on to accept a job coaching for a big college hockey program. He would be in the bleachers, as his childhood friends smiled in front of cameras after signing commitment letters to play college hockey. And this is where the game meant nothing to the boy, because the fire had long ago been put out.

Eventually, the boy would grow to be a man, and would meet his beautiful wife, and they would have twin boys, who loved the game as much as he once did. The man would follow in his father’s footsteps and work hard to provide for his family. When the boy’s grew old enough, the man would take his boys to the hockey rink, just like his father had done for him many years ago. The boys would grow up to be just as talented, if not better than him. He would wake up very early, and go to bed very late, if I meant that he needed to drive them to hockey. As the man grew older, his kids grew better, and better, until one day they were double the player he ever was. He would watch proudly, as the cameras flashed and his sons sat smiling like he once had, graciously accepting their offers to play professional hockey. This is where man found the fire that had been lost for many years. This time he understood why the fire burned.

Years later when the man became old, frail and weak, he rekindled the fire that once burned so brightly inside of him as a child. The old man never missed the opportunity to lace up those dusty old skates, and head out to the frozen pond where he fell in the love with the game. Because it had never been about who skated the fastest, who scored the most goals, or who won the game. This is where the old man’s fire burned, up until the day he passed away.

Find your fire.