For the Love of the Game

Dedicated to Kevin Bell

            Atop the hill, in the far right corner, lies an enclosure that has almost entirely fallen into ruin. This small place, this small rink, was forgotten long ago, but at one time the children that skated here had to put on their gear in a shack that was barely warmer than outside. At one time the little kids would quiver as they tried to stand up on ice that their parents had hot-mopped at twenty below, and at one time the lucky kids had to have their unlucky older brothers shovel the knee-deep snow off the rink so that their feet could find the ice. At one time this rink was loved, but not anymore. Now it is just a boarded up place where little four year olds once played hockey.

Skating. Like riding on the wind, it is a way to fly. To soar above normal expectations, to be brought to a better place. The optimistic feeling I get when I line up at the redline ready to skate is greater than all the others. The excitement of the perfect shot, the triumphant joy when you score. The enthusiasm as you root for your team from the sidelines as you wait for your turn to step onto the ice, and the shame when your line finally gets to play and then fails to stop the ever moving puck from hitting your unlucky goalie a thousand-and-two times. The extremely smug feeling that comes when you beat a good team, and the blasting rap songs that bleat meaningless victory words at you as you step into the locker room. The love of the game, the intolerable loss, and the disappointing tie, all contribute to the rough game of hockey.

I have always loved hockey, ever since I was too young to understand the game. I would stand in my bright purple snow suit on the snowy banks that surrounded the ice at the old rink, stuffed like a teddy bear to keep warm, and I would watch my brother skate. I would watch him chase the coaches around in little figure-eights trying not to fall over quite unsuccessfully, and I would watch him shoot the puck as hard as he could, hoping that it would somehow reach the back of the net. I knew from the moment I saw my brother put on his gear that I wanted to be a hockey player.

 I first put on skates when I was two, learned to stand up on skates when I was three, and started playing hockey when I was four. Ever since then my whole life has revolved around the putting on of hockey gear, the tying of new skate laces, and the hauling of my hockey bag out into the waiting car. The Homer Hockey Association's teams once had to skate outside on a rink that completely relied on the weather, but at one point the board of directors decided they didn't like having to wait for the thermometer to get above -20 degrees so that they could go shovel the rink. They decided the small fishing town of Homer needed a big city rink. My brother, my mom, my dad, and I now have a place to go after school to skate away the day, a place to replenish our minds with cheerful thoughts. We have a place to go to enjoy ourselves. We have a hockey rink.

And now, every other night, I go to hockey practice and get there half an hour early. I sit around and watch the team that practices before us skate in circles passing the puck, and sometimes I wish I was on an all girls team instead of an all-guys-but-me team, but even though that would mean that I would be with all my real friends, the guy's team challenges me to work harder, to get better. Before practice starts I often think about Kevin Bell, who was one of my first hockey coaches ever. He was the coach that really made me learn how to play this sport. Kevin died though, about a year ago.

And still, after nine and a half years of playing hockey, people ask me why I do it. "Why do you play a guy's sport?" they'll ask, and I always have my answer ready. I play hockey simply because I love it. I have played hockey since I was four, and that is not about to change. I play hockey because when I was little, I had a dream of being the best girl hockey player in the state, and every hard sweaty practice gets me closer to that goal. I play hockey for Kevin Bell and for myself. It makes my life whole, and that right there is enough reason to last forever.

Epilogue

This story was dedicated to Kevin Bell, a hardworking, enthusiastic, and lovable person. He was my hockey coach, my teacher. I've had many great coaches that have helped me over the years, but he was by far the best. Even though many people knew him a lot better than me, he was my friend. He was that person who taught our town how to play hockey, and got a rink and the Homer Hockey Association started. Kevin was the one who reeled my family into playing hockey, and that, although many of my friends hate that I play such a time consuming sport, I will always be thankful for. He was most people's coach at one time, and everyone's friend. He was always there to cheer for my team and smile when we won our games. Of course, he was also there to yell at us when we lost, but that really was for the better. He taught us how to live the life of hockey.

But one day he became seriously sick and went to the doctor. There they found an inoperable brain tumor in his skull. He died right after Christmas, and my family and I went to the memorial service which was held at the Island and Oceans Visitors Center. The place was packed with people crying and hugging each other, and I was taken aback to find out how many people knew my favorite coach. I sat with Caroline, who was on my hockey team for a few years, tears coming out of my eyes, as I remembered how inspiring Kevin Bell was. Speaker after speaker told great stories about Kevin's accomplishments, and how much they are going to miss him. After all the speakers had spoken their last words, a slide show was shown on a big projector; A tribute to his life. Pictures of Kevin Bell lit up the screen, highlighting the way he smiled and the way he laughed, and the last thing shown was a short film. It was a short clip of Kevin on the ice at the new rink that he had helped create. He was surrounded by small children, which were no older than four. Kevin was on one side, calling the kids to him, and the kids were skating as fast as they could towards their hockey coach. Here and there, the mini hockey players were falling down, and trying very hard to get back up. Kevin would skate over and help pull them up, and then when all the kids were around him, he asked, "Who's a hockey player?" Every single kid raised their voice at that moment, as if they wanted the whole world to hear their answer. "We are!" they all shouted. That day, after the memorial service, I told myself that I was going to be the first girl on the Homer high school hockey team. Kevin always told me that I was a good hockey player, but that I can still get better. I will always try to get better, for myself and for Kevin. He was, and still is, the only person I've ever known who has died. It is a sad thing, knowing that he can never again come to the ice rink, a place he loved, but he will always be in my heart, and the hearts of so many other people. Kevin, thank you for sharing your love of hockey with me. I miss you.