In the late afternoon, on a picture perfect fall day in Indianapolis, a high school hockey game kept us entertained. At 2-3, we watched the action closely~being down by only one goal. However, the clock was ticking at 00:02:46 when a line change put Kade back on the ice. The puck was dropped in our zone and the puck flew towards the goal, and in the the blink of an eye, our son put the puck in the back of the net~tying the game! Our team cheered enthusiastically, but his sister went crazy!
The puck was dropped at center ice. The team quickly gained possession again and within seconds the play was repeated!! Unbelievably, Kade had scored twice and our team was in the lead. Then the puck dropped again at center ice with the opposing team still scrambling from the energy generated by the sudden switch in events, and we gained control of the puck once again and the captain put it in the back of the net. In less than 30 seconds~the team scored three times!
A time out paused the action. Then the battle ensued for the final two minutes. In the final seconds of the game, the goalie came off the ice as the opposing team battled in their zone. Our captain gained possession of the puck and fighting into our zone managed to score again on the empty net! The final score 6-3.
A memorable comeback.
An unbelievable comeback at the high school level.
It goes to show what a little teamwork can accomplish!
*********
So, I sit here this morning with the game puck that the goalie presented to Kade after the game~ remembering the tears of utter joy that welled up and how my hands were shaking as I tried to text the updates...so excited for the team...so excited for the boys who battled hard on the ice all weekend...so excited for my son!
Monday, October 27, 2014
Monday, October 13, 2014
A Ball and a Boy
Many years ago, we stopped to visit my grandmother in her little white house beneath the towering trees. She had lived alone since the passing of my grandfather. My kids livened up her home a bit, but she was good-natured about it.
My little boy was fascinated by the way his great-grandmother did things. His favorite was her rubber band ball. After our stay, he decided he wanted one too, so he started collecting rubber bands, but he quickly realized that it took a long time to make a big ball. He would mention great-grandma's rubber band ball from time to time through the years. When grandma moved into the nursing home, her children had the task trying to sift through the years. My mother asked me if there was anything special I would be interested in (if no one else was). I told her my son would be delighted to inherit the rubber band ball. She brought it home for him, and he was so delighted! His fascination was unabated.
I unpacked the beloved ball yesterday. I held it carefully, as it is starting to show signs of age.
My mind drifted to the stories of a young girl with 10 brothers and sisters, living through the great depression and learning to be frugal to survive. Years ago she shared one of her favorite memories of those years with me. She recalled that on Sundays all the neighbors would come together, each bringing the best food they had to share~making a feast that ensured all the kids had one good meal for the week. On each Sunday they gathered to feed each other and maybe even more importantly, they enjoyed the reprieve from the hardships of daily life when they paused to visit and eat. They created bonds for a lifetime on those afternoons. They would see a need and lend a hand without asking. Even as the years got easier, the camaraderie remained strong. They walked together during the hard times, holding each other up, and I didn't understand until that day why my grandmother was so diligent in lending a helping hand to a neighbor in need.
As a young girl my grandmother worked for a family cooking and cleaning before her knight in shining armor made her his life partner. She worked hard on their family farm and never took that for granted. She understood hardship. I always remember her beautiful, bountiful garden and how she would transform those vegetables into a feast. I loved her meals. I loved her green beans. She could made everything the best. I still crave green beans like hers...and mashed potatoes...oh and don't forget the gravy! All my cousins will readily chime in with their memories of her cooking~it is one thing we can all agree on!
When I was in college I remember, a man and his wife introducing themselves to me, knowing I was her granddaughter. They wanted to share their story of how they enjoyed my grandmother's cooking and compassion. You see, when they were struggling college students and food was scarce, she would always invite them to stay for dinner after church on Sunday. They described the bountiful feast she prepared in great detail...the rich aroma and savory taste. They would eat until they were bursting at the seams--their empty stomachs grateful for the feast. It would help carry them through the week until her next invitation on Sunday. Now they stood with me, years later, well established in life and careers with their children grown, but they never forgot those Sunday dinners at grandma's house. They marveled at how she intuitively understood their struggle~she never said a word just prepared an abundance of food to share and extended the warm invitation.
The rubber bands are cracking, so I gently roll the ball in my hands. Funny how something so small and perhaps insignificant to the casual observer has become so important to us. I am grateful that as a small child, my son saw the value. As I study all those rubber bands wound carefully together through the years, I realize that it symbolizes our family and our memories. We are wound together in love, for better or for worse, but always there when needed.
My little boy was fascinated by the way his great-grandmother did things. His favorite was her rubber band ball. After our stay, he decided he wanted one too, so he started collecting rubber bands, but he quickly realized that it took a long time to make a big ball. He would mention great-grandma's rubber band ball from time to time through the years. When grandma moved into the nursing home, her children had the task trying to sift through the years. My mother asked me if there was anything special I would be interested in (if no one else was). I told her my son would be delighted to inherit the rubber band ball. She brought it home for him, and he was so delighted! His fascination was unabated.
I unpacked the beloved ball yesterday. I held it carefully, as it is starting to show signs of age.
My mind drifted to the stories of a young girl with 10 brothers and sisters, living through the great depression and learning to be frugal to survive. Years ago she shared one of her favorite memories of those years with me. She recalled that on Sundays all the neighbors would come together, each bringing the best food they had to share~making a feast that ensured all the kids had one good meal for the week. On each Sunday they gathered to feed each other and maybe even more importantly, they enjoyed the reprieve from the hardships of daily life when they paused to visit and eat. They created bonds for a lifetime on those afternoons. They would see a need and lend a hand without asking. Even as the years got easier, the camaraderie remained strong. They walked together during the hard times, holding each other up, and I didn't understand until that day why my grandmother was so diligent in lending a helping hand to a neighbor in need.
As a young girl my grandmother worked for a family cooking and cleaning before her knight in shining armor made her his life partner. She worked hard on their family farm and never took that for granted. She understood hardship. I always remember her beautiful, bountiful garden and how she would transform those vegetables into a feast. I loved her meals. I loved her green beans. She could made everything the best. I still crave green beans like hers...and mashed potatoes...oh and don't forget the gravy! All my cousins will readily chime in with their memories of her cooking~it is one thing we can all agree on!
When I was in college I remember, a man and his wife introducing themselves to me, knowing I was her granddaughter. They wanted to share their story of how they enjoyed my grandmother's cooking and compassion. You see, when they were struggling college students and food was scarce, she would always invite them to stay for dinner after church on Sunday. They described the bountiful feast she prepared in great detail...the rich aroma and savory taste. They would eat until they were bursting at the seams--their empty stomachs grateful for the feast. It would help carry them through the week until her next invitation on Sunday. Now they stood with me, years later, well established in life and careers with their children grown, but they never forgot those Sunday dinners at grandma's house. They marveled at how she intuitively understood their struggle~she never said a word just prepared an abundance of food to share and extended the warm invitation.
The rubber bands are cracking, so I gently roll the ball in my hands. Funny how something so small and perhaps insignificant to the casual observer has become so important to us. I am grateful that as a small child, my son saw the value. As I study all those rubber bands wound carefully together through the years, I realize that it symbolizes our family and our memories. We are wound together in love, for better or for worse, but always there when needed.
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