EDITORIAL

Just when you think you've got it ...

Posted 2/4/21

Sometimes it's best off remembering the good old days rather than seeking to replicate them. Of course, that's all too sensible. So when my son Ted called to say the pond was frozen and he was having friends over to skate, I was anxious to go. A week

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EDITORIAL

Just when you think you've got it ...

Posted

Sometimes it’s best off remembering the good old days rather than seeking to replicate them.

Of course, that’s all too sensible.

So when my son Ted called to say the pond was frozen and he was having friends over to skate, I was anxious to go. A week earlier, he reported walking close to shore and seeing turtles swimming beneath his feet through the clear ice. Since then it had snowed and warmed up, but then we went into the deep freezer and the pond hardened up.

“I’ll be building a fire,” he said. That did it, or should I say, “that iced it.”

By the time I arrived, Ted’s friends and their kids plus a handful of neighbors were zigzagging across the pond.

I brought along my prize pair of CCMs from my brief time as a high school hockey player. They were immediately recognized as vintage skates, which they are, and as being in amazingly good shape. Truth is, the skates went back in the box after I broke my collarbone and my career as a high school hockey player came to an end without scoring a single goal.

But the feeling of those few games where I fought for the puck and made a drive for the opposing goal can’t be extinguished. Sitting on a log, I laced up my skates and then navigated through the sticks and brambles that separated me from the ice. I felt unsteady, but chalked that up to the terrain. Once I found clear ice, I would be okay. At least that was my reasoning.

Not so. My ankles wobbled. I wished I had a hockey stick to offer some support.

The pond ice was white and mottled, but by pond hockey standards a good 8. In a few places, branches reached out from beneath – I made note to avoid them – and there were portholes to the bottom where the ice was clear. A couple of kids were lying on the ice looking through these “windows.”

It was about noon. The sun was bright and without any wind, it was surprisingly warm, although the thermometer was reading in the teens.

It’s said once you learn how to ride a bicycle, you never forget. I’m not so sure the same is true for skating, but I was willing to give it a try. The skates were dull, but I was able to gain some speed as I pushed off on one skate and then the next. I crossed over to make a turn, which all added to a sense of confidence and that really I knew what I was doing.

Ted whizzed past. Everyone was doing their own thing, gliding along simply enjoying the speed, the outdoors and freedom from masks, social distancing and all we’ve put up with for nearly a year.

It was exhilarating. I knew why I loved skating so much. That was until I caught a rough patch. I slammed face first into the ice. It all happened so quickly that I didn’t even reach out to lessen the fall.

I heard a crack, and it wasn’t ice, either. I lay on the ice assessing conditions.

Ted spun up from behind. “Are you OK, Dad?”

“I think I cracked a rib.”

Ted put out the alarm and other skaters came to see how they might help. By this time I was back up.

One of Ted’s friends, a doctor, had me turn my head and describe where the pain was. He confirmed my diagnosis and suggested I get an X-ray if I really wanted to be sure, although time is what’s needed to fix a rib.

By this point, I had attracted quite a crowd. It was nice that everyone was concerned.

Then it happened. Like a warning shot, the pond reverberated as spidery cracks spread outward.

“We’ve got too many people here,” Ted wisely concluded.

We all split in different directions.

I headed for shore, humiliated, but knowing I’d be back. Only next time I’ll bring a hockey stick.

This Side Up, John Howell

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  • mthompsondc

    Johnny Orr.

    Saturday, February 6, 2021 Report this