The Day I Had Been Waiting For

It’s hard to sort out actual memories from home videos and stories from family members. I am certain, however, that this memory is my own. I know it because not only can I picture everything that happened that day, but I can also remember what I felt like. It may not have been my first memory, but it sure does stick out in my mind. It was the day my brother included me in ball hockey.

I was probably about four or five years old. Growing up with older brothers, I was always a little more into sports than the other girls were. My best friend Melanie, who also had two older brothers, was in the same boat as me. We would sit outside and build forts for ourselves (and our stuffed animals) and watch the boys with envy. Sometimes when the boys would take a break for a drink or a snack, Mel and I would pick up their sticks and play around for a bit until they came back. We always hoped that one day they would need someone to even out the teams, and when that day came, we would be ready.

Well, that day did eventually come. I was sitting out on the front step, braiding my mom’s hair, when my brother Steven came out the front door and asked if I wanted to go in nets while he took shots on me.

I was in disbelief. It was too good to be true. He had to be playing a joke on me! He never, ever let me play, even just with him, even if I was the only one around.

 He took the old couch cushions that we used for goalie pads before Mom got us the real set, and taped them to my legs and arms with masking tape. My mom came down the driveway with my ringette helmet (which I thought was unfair because the boys didn’t have to wear their helmets when they played ball hockey) but I didn’t argue- I would have worn a full suit of armour if that’s what I had to do to play.

I knew we didn’t have a lot of time because the sun was getting low and Mom was going to have to go inside to make supper soon. I got in front of the net, which was taller than me. Steven said he wanted to practice his wrist shot, which was a little scary, but I was ready.

I let a lot of shots in that night, but there was one shot that I did not let in, that I remember in particular. The ball hit me at knee level and I caught it between my pads. Even though it was a freak accident that I caught the ball like that, I was ecstatic. My brother ran up to me and gave me a high five. I saved it.

Skating On A Lake

The snow sparkles like tiny crystals as the sun beams down on it. The blinding sun has misled me to believe that I could get away with a light jacket. As I approach the frozen lake, I notice a thin layer of freshly fallen snow is covering the area of the lake. I take a seat on a smooth, flat rock so that I can lace up my skates.  I hear the crunch of the snow beneath me as I take the three steps from the rock to the surface of the ice. As I take the first glide, I immediately feel the sting of the cold, bitter wind. I have the ice to myself until I hear the flapping of wings and the chirps of two lively birds join me on the ice. They keep their distance and with every move I make in their direction, they jump back.  After a few minutes of pecking around at the frozen hard ice, they fly back up to the highest branch of a tree nearby and just sit.

I feel the wind pick up and all of a sudden I spot two or three feathery snowflakes out of the corner of my eye. The distraction causes me to stumble on my feet and I end up lying on the ice, facing up to the snow-filled clouds and trying to blink the falling snow out of my eyes. I get shivers as the ice touches my bare skin on my neck, not covered by my coat or hat. The sky is starting to turn from the bright blue of the afternoon into a darker grey as evening starts to settle in.

There are no lights on the lake so I skate back to where my boots are waiting for me, lightly dusted with fresh snow. I unlace my skates and for five seconds my socked feet are feeling the winter air. Buddhists say your bare foot should touch the ground three times a day…but I’m not that crazy.

I step into my boots, not caring that my socks get a bit wet from the snow that had fallen into them during the afternoon.  I walk back the way I came, my own footprints still visible so that there is somewhat of a path that I can follow. It’s about a five minute walk from the lake back to the road, and another five from there to the cottage. The walk home is always the best part of afternoons like these. I hear the sounds of mothers calling for their kids to come back inside to wash up for dinner. The smell of burning wood coming from fireplaces permeates the air around me.

Finally I reach the cottage, my home for the next two weeks. I walk up the beaten path and open the door to the smell of my own fireplace, and hunker down for a cozy Christmas Eve with my family.

Adopted into an Italian restaurant

Calzone was by far the best job I have ever, and will ever, have. Sure, I don’t exactly wish for a career in the serving industry, but the people and atmosphere in that place is incomparable to anything else I have ever experienced.  

The family-owned, Italian restaurant first opened up in 1995 by two men named Joe and Tony. Joe and Tony still work there today, along with their wives, children and the rest of their employees. I started working there in 2006, after hearing they were hiring through my brother who worked there as a delivery driver.

The reason I loved that job so much was not about the actual job itself. The reason was the family atmosphere. Even though I was not blood related to the owners, they treated me like I was. In a way, though, we were all related. Everyone who was hired had gotten the job through someone else who worked there. I got the job through my brother, who started because of my cousin. My friend Kayley started there because of her sister, who got the job through her best friend Tania, who is Tony’s daughter. The examples go on and on- you could pretty much draw a family tree at that restaurant.

Sunday shifts were my favourite. . We opened at 11 in the morning. It was a small restaurant, and about 75 percent of our orders on a Sunday were for either pick up or delivery. So, on a Sunday, there was only ever myself, Tony, and one driver until 5:00.

Inevitably we would all come in with coffee and bagels, and we would complete our morning tasks while telling stories about our Saturday nights. Tony, a man of 55 and a die hard rock and roll fan, loved hearing about what shenanigans the “young kids” got up to.

By about 2:00 the lunch rush was over and, unless the Grey Cup, Superbowl or some other significant sporting event was on, we would hit a lull until about 5:00. This is when Tony would cook up a feast for us- occasionally teaching me a thing or two- and we would sit down and watch whatever movie was on that day, interrupted only by one or two phone calls throughout the course of the afternoon. It was like the calm before the storm

Then the Sunday night dinner rush would hit. My friend Kayley and I worked Sunday nights together, taking turns answering phone calls and waiting tables. Both owners and their wives would be in the back cooking and the drivers were in and out with deliveries.

The thing about me is...

There is no doubt that my family is the most important thing in the world to me- after all, they have shaped me into the person I am today. But there is something else that I am going to write about that I think is one of the most important things for the development of a person: playing team sports.

I started playing ringette when I was only four years old and played until I was eighteen. I started a year ahead of most girls did. My step-sisters played ringette and my brothers both played hockey so I when the day finally came when it was my turn, I nearly ran onto the ice without my skates laced up.

As I got older, I started getting better and was playing at a pretty high level. I even got the chance to go to the Canadian Ringette Championships in Winnipeg, where my team won the gold medal for Quebec- the first time in 15 years that Quebec had won.

Not only did playing on a team give me the chance to travel to different part of Canada, but it taught me about commitment, teamwork, discipline and hard work.

Commitment is vital when you play on a team sport. If you are a tennis player and you decide to pull out of a match because you are too tired or you don’t want to miss the party that night, the only person you are letting down is yourself. But when you play on a team, you have people counting on you. Not only do you have to be there, you also have to be ready to perform at the same level as the rest of your team. It’s obvious to everyone when a team member strolls in to the dressing room 10 minutes before a game with a sleepy look on her face that she is not going to be ready to play. Also, with the commitment of being on a team comes the commitment to punctuality. Being part of a team requires you to be on time, whether it is two hours before game or 20 minutes.

Discipline becomes really important as you get into high level competition, especially when you are facing teenage pressures.  I competed in tournaments when I was 16 and 17 years old and there were times that I wished I could stay out late the night before a game. But I knew that if I did I would not perform to my full potential the next day and I would be letting my team down. There was also the consequence that if my coach found out I was drinking the night before a game I would be benched or suspended from playing. Without those consequences it would have been a lot harder to say no.

 Where teamwork comes in is obvious- a team is only as strong as its weakest link. This means that if one person is not performing to their full potential, the whole team is not performing to its full potential. Everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses and a team needs to learn how to best utilize everyone’s strengths and pick up slack for each other’s weaknesses. Everyone has a role, whether you’re the superstar goal scorer or the toughest defenseman.

 Finally, there is hard work. When you play on a team it is obvious when someone is not pulling their weight or not playing as hard as they can. This type of behaviour does not go over well with fellow teammates or coaches. The pressure that is put on a player is healthy- it pushes you to do better.

These qualities continue to apply to real life situations in both work and school, which is why I am thankful that I started learning them at the age of four.