How Do You Survive a Kid’s Birthday Party?

Posted on December 8, 2015 by Joe Cummings
Toys R Us. Oh the horror, the horror.

Toys R Us. Oh the horror, the horror.

Ok, truth time. I have no clue how to survive one. But I can totally understand why parents pay for bouncy time on trampolines or send the whole lot off to blast each other with fake lasers, or, back when I worked at Toys R Us, leave a large mob of screaming children in the Lego section and just run – it’s terrifying to host a gang? Herd? A murder? of children.

Here’s why. Such a thing exceeds my capacity to control things. Little hands getting on little breakable things. Little minds figuring out ways to tie each other up for target-practice. Little feet jumping on antique furniture handed down from my great-great-great grandma who fought off the Vikings with that rocking chair.

But that’s what we’d taken on last weekend. It was the Youngest’s 9th birthday. Invitations were created that destroyed a printer. I saw this as a harbinger of things to come. 10 invitations were given out.  4 kids confirmed.

That eased my mind a bit. 10 would be a challenge to manage. Like Rome trying to manage the Hunnic horde. Wait, sorry. Too nerdy a reference. But 4. Yeah, that was doable.

So The Youngest, very much to my surprise, began to organize what they would do. He took this task very seriously. He was dead thorough about it.

A nerf gun with about a billion bullets. Is it wrong I want one?

A nerf gun with about a billion bullets. Is it wrong I want one?

Pizza was chosen for food because everyone coming liked pizza, and “cupcakes for dessert cuz they’re easier to eat”, (‘than what?’ I asked, but whatever), “and we’ll play nerf gun wars, and everyone can bring over their favourite guns,” (wait, they have favourite guns? Oh I weep for the world), “and then we’ll watch a movie, but we’ll all vote on the next one,” (look at our little fan of democrazy), “then we will stay up to 4am,” (wait, what, ah no, you’re not), “and then, in the morning, we’ll watch another movie and have another epic nerf war battle and probably eat more pizza,” (err, ok, but how long do you think your friends are staying?)

In all honesty, I was very impressed at how much thought he’d put into this part. He had even organized the nerf bullets and found a good selection of kid’s movies to choose from (after I took out things like the Exorcist, Nazi Zombie Brides, and Braveheart). He’d EVEN helped clean up the space they’d play in – he was so concerned that everyone would have a good time.

How freaking cool is that? It was HIS birthday. He could have been totally like me and made it all about him. Like on my birthday. I get the cake I want. I get to eat tubs of the food I love. Everyone has to listen to me talk about ancient Greek generals. Or tanks. And I get to rant about politics with no one saying, for the love of God, let it go.

Honestly, though, I was still a bit nervous when it became time for the other children to arrive. The Youngest was as hyped up as if we’d given him a steady diet of chocolate coffee beans and meth. Apparently, all the kids who’d been invited were super excited as well.

No worries, though. I had 911 on speed dial. I’d reread the book on first aid and practiced the Heimlich maneuver on the dog, and gargled with salt water in case some serious yelling would be in order.

Nothing bad was going to happen. Not on my watch. But would everyone have a good time?

 

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Top Ten Wedding Ideas – Rejected

Posted on November 27, 2015 by Joe Cummings
Weddings, oh the happiness, the joy, the stress

Weddings, oh the happiness, the joy, the stress

Well, now that the proposal-part has been done, it’s time to take a look at what our wedding will look like. Or not look like.

There are so many decisions to be made.

Big wedding or small? Harder for us to actually do a big wedding as we have to pay for it and some clown spent a lot of money on a ring and helicopter ride, but we’ll see what we can manage.

Where? Oh so many choices. Not a destination wedding. Not an elopement. Something nearby. Something nice, but not massively expensive. Something warm and intimate if possible. Our friend Sheila nailed it. Small Italian restaurant. We want a similar experience.

And what about theme, flowers, dresses, suits, and the second most important thing, food? All these things have to be decided and decided sooner rather than later. Already some of our ‘spots’ were booked. (In one case, booked up to 2017!!!)

So, we’ll continue to think, to plan, to compromise.

In the meantime, I had some great ideas. However, not all of them were approved. Here is a list of the Top 10 Ideas that didn’t quite make the cut.

  • Nothing like a good tragedy at a wedding. Game of Thrones

    Nothing like a good tragedy at a wedding. Game of Thrones

    A Red Wedding. I mean how cool would this be? We all get shot with arrows at the end, fake or real, I hadn’t decided yet, maybe a mix of both. But this idea went nowhere, despite the fact it would be uber cool to hold the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world in my arms as we say our last good-byes. Oh, well.

  • Hockey Wedding. As advocated by the Youngest. I’m not sure how it would work, but there would be some form of skating, a shoot-out, maybe someone singing oh Canada, and an organ. Sadly, I can’t skate and while me standing on the ice might be comical, it would likely end in something horribly embarrassing posted on youtube.
  • Star War Slave Girl Wedding. Ok, I haven’t completely given up on this one. The Prettiest-girl-in-the-world would look amazing in the Princess Leia slave-girl outfit and we could have everyone else come as their favourite character (though both boys want to be Darth Vadar for some reason). A total winner in my books, but I’m sure you can hear the eye rolling from where you read this.
  • A walking dead cake. How cool would that be?

    A walking dead cake. How cool would that be?

    The Walking Dead Wedding. OMG, how cool would this be? All zombies? My speech would be something like, mmmaaaa, ggggaaaaah, arrrrrhhh, and no one would make fun of my dancing. Plus, the whole death do you part thing wouldn’t apply. Maybe something like, “until shot in the head by living humans.” However, this was a solid no as well.

  • Wedding in the Rain. How romantic, right? So we get a little wet. So the bride’s eyeliner runs? So we all shiver for a couple of hours and catch a cold. It would certainly be memorable.
  • Sky Dive Wedding. Like let’s pretend for a moment I’m not terrified of heights. Wouldn’t it be cool to leap out of a plane together, and while hurtling towards the earth, pledge eternal love? Doesn’t that sound like fun? Well apparently it “sounds like I got into the liquor cabinet.”
  • How to throw a hobbit party

    How to throw a hobbit party

    Hobbit Wedding. Think of an idyllic setting, the grass impossibly green, the trees alive with bright leaves, everyone wearing hobbit feet and vests. Think of white tents billowing in the gentle wind. Think of kegs of beer, the best kidney pies, and fireworks. We could have Gandalf marry us, though this may take a bit of work since it’ll be The Prettiest-girl-in-the-world’s mom who’ll be doing the honors.

  • Batman Wedding. Now I get this one might be a bit of a stretch since Batman never got married or anything, but here’s the pluse to this idea. I get to answer all the questions with “I am Batman, “ in a gravelly voice.     “Will you take the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world to be your lawful, wedded wife?”
    Anyone got a bat mobile for rent?

    Anyone got a bat mobile for rent?

    “I am Batman.”

    “Will you love and honor The Prettiest-Girl-in-the-world until death do you part?”

    “I am Batman.”

Plus, we could drive away the in bat mobile.

  • Sound of Music Singing Wedding. Well, to be honest, after hearing myself sing, I kinda put the kibosh on this myself. I mean, everyone wants to hear the hills are alive with the sound of music until you actually hear me sing it. I would look good in a traditional Austrian suit, though. And I do like the idea of controlling the children with a whistle.
  • Princess Bride Wedding. Ok, again, I haven’t given up on this one. Mawwwage, that bwessed event… I’m not sure we need a giant or any R.O.U.S. (Rodents of Unusual Size), but you haven’t lived until you’ve seen me in my Dread Pirate Roberts outfit, which I would, ah, yeah, have to buy, cuz I totally don’t have one hidden in the closet upstairs.

So what ideas do you have?

Any suggestions?

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The Best Day Part III

Posted on November 22, 2015 by Joe Cummings

gollumSo, for a moment, imagine if the Hobbits had said, yah, you know what, no, that whole dropping the ring in the fiery pit of Mt Doom, yah, we’re not going to do that. Or what if Kyle Reese had said, damn, yo, look at that terminator thing, I’m outta here? Or what if Batman had looked at Bane and said, you’re right, Mr. Bane, Gotham kinda sucks, it’s all yours?

That was what was threatening my D&D adventure. I had one hero who didn’t want to be a hero. At least, not a traditional D&D hero.

But I had to drive on.  I mean, did Sam give up when Frodo went all limp biscuit? Did Harry Potter wilt when he was told he had to die? Did Will Ferrell wander off to make snowmen after being told to leave the Elf community?

No!

So I would find a way to make this adventure work.

I picked up after the non-bar fight, where the ogre had given all his cash to avoid violence. Luckily, such things still impress people so he was hired to look into a missing caravan. Joined by his brother, the most blood-thirsty warrior ever born, and my friend who played a veteran soldier, they began their search where the caravan had been headed.

mohicansBeing all rangerie like Aragorn or the Last of the Mohicans guy, The Youngest’s character tracked the tracks, and they found the caravan without too much trouble. Oddly enough, there were no bodies, though. Not a one. Lots of blood, sure. Some goods stolen. A few goblin arrows sticking into dead oxen, but so much was off about this scene.

Where had the bodies gone? Why would the Goblins leave their arrows behind? Why would they not steal everything in sight, even eating the oxen? Hey, goblins are all about the bling-bling, and the hack and slash, and BBQ afterwards.

So what was really going on?

As The Oldest – playing the Ogre – looked around for clues and The Youngest began to dismantle all of my carefully built trees, the goblin trail was discovered. Following it and knowing the forest as they do, they were able to sneak up on some of the goblins who, like all good goblins, were waiting in ambush for them.

Ah ha! Another classic battle in the making. Good guys sneak up on the green goobers and slaughter them.

But, this is not the Ogre way. No.

He did something – again – I’d never seen in D&D.

He tried to scare them off by running at them. Like a big-ass bowling ball, he roared into them, flailing his arms, shouting Ogrish nonsense and knocking them all over.

While stunned and not a little surprised, the Youngest rained arrows at the Goblins, and my friend took out her trusty sword and slashed and hewed about her like any good fantasy hero.

orcsThe Goblins, caught off guard, didn’t really know what to do, so they shot a few arrows at the Ogre and tried to reform in some sort of battle order. As they mustered around their leader, the Ogre, not content to merely roar and run around, climbed a tree that bent with his weight and fell on them.

Call it Ogre-slamming. I think the Rock tried something like this once.

Anyway, there was like this big mushroom cloud of dirt and clover and leaves as 500lbs of Ogre hit the ground, squishing Goblins underneath him.

The Youngest, with epic shots (for those who’ve actually played, he rolled three back-to-back 20s) mowed down the few Goblins who staggered away from the Ogre-slamming, while my friend finished off whose who who tried to flee.

They’d won. But at a cost.

The Ogre, desperate not to kill anyone, ended up with an arrow in his chest. As he lay on the ground dying, his hands dug into the earth and he watched the trees sway above him, shedding leaves like tears.

None of the other characters had the power to save him.

He was simply too badly injured.

The Ogre would need a miracle.

Yet, miracles do happen in D&D.

All the time.

But that’s where the adventure ended.

At least for now.

See, now here’s the thing. Here’s why I refound my love for D&D…

I’ve never seen a character use himself as a bowling ball. I’ve never seen someone roll 3 critical hits in a row, even my old D&D friend who had a knack for lucky rolls. I’ve never seen an Ogre try to turn himself into a club and smack a group of Goblins unconscious. Nor, I think, have the Goblins.

It’s why D&D really can be such a fun game.

You never know what would happen.

ogre d&DAnd would I really let a character die for being heroic?

Stay tuned for the next adventure. Sometime in December.

 

 

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The Best Day Part II

Posted on November 21, 2015 by Joe Cummings

dungeons and dragonsI thought I was prepared for everything, but I had forgotten how D&D can twist your expectations. For better. Or worse.

So here’s how it started. All three players, the Oldest, the Youngest and my friend, were fighters. Rough tough soldiers. Killers. Warriors.

Now the coolest thing about an RPG (a roleplaying game), is that you can create a character that’s basically one form of you, or someone you may have read about or watched on TV. Or a combination of the two. You can be a Gimli-like dwarf with a bit of nerdy Sheldon, for example.

“Bazinga! Certainty of death, small chance of success- what are we waiting for?”

Or, with the new D&D rules, they assign a few traits to help you create an amazing character.

Here’s what the boys got. The Youngest, who has already made his Christmas list, and it is 2 pages long – got a character who despises money. Material things mean nothing to him. Nothing. He was all about the fame.

Ha. About as opposite to the Youngest as it could possibly be.

The Oldest got a character who loves the forest. LOVES it. Would never harm it. Ever.

shrekNow him being an ogre and all, that was kinda cool. Ogres are known for eating children and bashing knights on the head with big clubs. But not this one. This one loved nature. A big, huge ogre with massive muscles who literally loves to smell the roses. Lie in a bed of clover. Look at the color of leaves in the forest.

OMG, this was going to be good.

So I built the first adventure around those things. The Youngest wanted only glory so I geared up great glory for him if he succeeded. For the oldest, a threat to nature. To the things he loved the most.

It all began, as most adventures in D&D begin. In an inn. There, thought I, they would be confronted by smelly bullies who hated the big ogre. The big ogre would likely pound them into snot, especially if his brother – the fighter who would see great glory in coming to the aid of the outnumbered ogre – helped him out.

Then, based on their manly heroics and impressive tossing of bad guys around, they would be asked to help find a lost caravan. In the forest.

Simple, right?

seagalSort of like every Steven Seagal movie only with less, you know, Steven Seagal in it.

But when I began the encounter, the ogre did something completely unexpected.

I, as the *cough* dungeon master began: “Alright, Ogre, as soon as you enter, three men stand up from their tables. One of them, a burly man with stained leather armor and a red nose from too much drinking, marches up to you.”

(On the tiles I’d set up, I place an Ogre figure by the door and six bad-ass-looking guys near tables. I placed figures of The Youngest and my friend at another table).

thugMe: “The ruffian looks up at you and says, “Your kind ain’t allowed in here,” He reaches for the rusty dagger at his side. He’s so close to you, you can smell how much he stinks. Like our dog after she’s rolled around in dead fish. Behind him, you see his two companions stand up as well and try their best to look menacing.

“Either you go quietly,” the thug in front of you says, “or we’re going to carve you up real bad like.”

(Now, traditionally, and indeed in most bar fights, this is where the other side postures up and soon all hell breaks loose… but not this time.)

Ogre: “I don’t see the need to fight.”

Me (and the bad guys): “What?”

Ogre: “What if I just paid you to walk away.”

Me and the bad guys: “What?”

“I’ve got 100 gold. Why don’t I give it to you and you can feed your families or go buy pokemon cards or something.”

Me and the bad guys: “What?”

“100 gold is a lot of money.”

heartbreak ridge(Now, this is where a video game would force the issue. It has no ability to improvise. To adapt. To overcome. A machine is not a marine. – Or a dungeon master, which is pretty much the same thing.

But I can adapt.

And I did.

Me: “The thugs seem confused. The guy in front of you takes a step back. He rubs his jaw, thinking, but he likes the idea of free money, so, yeah, he can’t pass that up. They take your money, laughing, and leave.”

The Oldest beams. He’s beaten the encounter. Not by violence. But by using his head and a bit of cash. Kind of like what I used to do in junior high where I traded my lunch for someone not punching me in the face.

But it reset the whole game. Like a QB who runs more than he throws, like a politician who actually does what they say they’ll do, like a movie that’s not filled with product placements.

I would have to readjust EVERYTHING and quickly. I had a warrior who hated to kill. An amazingly cool trait, but not something I expected.

I mean, what do you do in a game where the whole point is largely to slaughter the bad guys?

Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.

 

 

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My Best Day

Posted on November 19, 2015 by Joe Cummings

d and dThe day I’d dreamed about forever had finally arrived. The day I got the boys to play D&D.

Ok, right off that kinda tells you what kind of nerd I am, but I loved playing D&D long ago back in the day – when we had pencils instead of xboxes and pieces of paper instead of iphones.

So, being me, I wanted to make it the BEST experience possible for the boys. If I buggered it up, then they would likely never want to play again. I learned this the hard way from the Magic card game disaster of 2014.

However, they were a little unsure of the whole concept. “So, like we do what? Write stuff on paper?”

Me: “No, you are taken on an epic adventure.”

“How?”

“Like in your mind.”

“In? My? Mind?”

“Yah. You draw up a character and you enter a world of imagination and possibilities. Unlike your computer games, you can do anything. ANYTHING. That’s the bonus of having a human being leading you on your journey.”

“So it’s not a video game?”

“Ah, no.”

sad but socialPlus, I told them, it’s vaguely social. The best games are the best because of the people you play with.

They looked less than impressed.

But that’s enough for me. Once, two years ago, I would have needed the look of awe, of wonder, but now, I’m happy if they don’t just shrug and walk away. (It’s all about setting the bar low enough.)

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever played D&D or if you have, if you’ll admit it, but it’s not the easiest game to explain. There’s race choices, you know, the old dwarf and elf thing, and stats like strength and wisdom, and professions like fighter and cleric. Then there’s weapons and spells and armor and monsters and …

After a few more minutes of trying to explain all of D&D to them, I gave up and decided just to play. Hey, it’s simple enough to start and as long as I kept comparing things to either pokemon or minecraft, I would be fine.

Still, like I said, I wanted this to be the most amazing experience ever. Like my first game was. So, I enlisted the aid of a longtime friend, who agreed to come over and help me out. FYI, she also helped me buy the ring for the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world.

With her helping me, I hoped we could make the experience rock.

shrekTjackson's characterhe oldest chose to be a fighter. And an ogre. Like Shrek. Mostly I think he did this so he could say Shrek a lot which is some sort of meme which is some sort of something I still don’t quite get.

carters characterThe Youngest chose to be a fighter as well. Not surprising. If his brother had chosen to be a wingnut, he would likely choose the same thing. But he took one look at a miniature that we’d bought, and decided to be a kick-ass crossbow assassin.
Ok, so D&D purists will cringe, but whatever, go eat some iron rations. The boys were happy. The Oldest was a big ogre. The Youngest looked like he would kill you for just looking at him the wrong way (something I greatly fear may be in his real-life future.)

Anyway, I spent a day making the adventure, creating maps and monsters, and trying to work out a good narrative that would appeal to the boys.

My guess was they’d be less interested about saving a princess, even though they play Mario a lot. My guess was they wouldn’t want to be involved in some extended mystery about who killed the Ogre with the crossbow in the bathroom. That’s more Clue.

Then I realized, based on my billion years of being a Dungeon Master (oh God, how that makes me cringe to say outload), that I needed to make this as visual as possible. Pencil and paper were fine in my day, but this generation has been raised on Call Of Duty graphics and HD visuals.

warhammer scenerySo I hauled out my old scenery from a table-top game (Warhammer for those who care). Lots of trees. A few big-ass rocks. And I bought some tiles that showed forest-like ground and buildings.

And I was set.

But, as in any game of this sort, I had NO idea what would happen and honestly, I never would have guessed in a million years.

More tomorrow.

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Inside the Change Room

Posted on October 26, 2015 by Joe Cummings

IMG_2377

Last post in the hockey blogathon…

In Atom, for the first time, the moms are banned from being in the change rooms. Well, ‘banned’ may be too strong a word, so let’s say ‘discouraged’, instead. It’s partially because boys are becoming men, and partially because a year, ago, they wouldn’t mind a hug or a kiss on the cheek from mom. Now that’s just not allowed. Kisses and hugs are for little kids.

So for all the moms who can’t be in that room or anyone who really wondered what’s what, let me take you inside of it.

First of all, much to my surprise, it’s not well lit. You’d think with all the mold that could grow or black fungus that could form, there’d be so much light that you might think you’re on the sun. But no. It’s kind of dingy. Dull. As often as not, the colors are Canuck colors. Grey. Green. Blue. Sometimes with brown.

Martha Stewart would throw up.

Then there’s the smell. It’s not a smell like flowers or vanilla. It’s stinky boy smell. Stinky teenager smell. Stinky man smell. It’s not always bad, but it’s always there. It can’t be washed out. It’s in the seats. The floor. The walls.

And when it’s bad, when the air is humid from showers and it’s late in the day, it can be a bit gagging.

fogNot that the boys seem to care. I wonder if boys just don’t have a sense of smell sometimes. God knows this HAS to be true when they engage in farting battles.

Hey, I know I have a less evolved sense of smell than the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world, but not that unevolved that sometimes the locker room smell hits me like a wall of smog.

Visually, inside the room, benches line the walls. In the smaller change rooms, it can be quite a challenge getting everyone seated. Once, we even had 2 teams stuffed into one of the smaller rooms. No coach’s speeches on that day and we had to rotate who could sit and who had to stand and wait.

For the boys, everything in that room is something to play with. The hooks on the walls. The garbage bins. Even the toilets. If it weren’t for the parents being there, I shudder to think what would happen.

Sadly, more than once, we’ve had some bright spark leave a huge deuce unflushed in the toilet… sort of a ‘f-u’ to the next team that occupies the room. Or so much wetness on the floor from previous showers that the boys feel like they’re changing in a swamp.

Yuck.

But most of the time, the toilet paper remains in the toilet rolls, the shelves are used for helmets and plumbing overhead not used as a jungle time.

Most of the time.

Apart from the décor, there’s also a locker room culture.

A guy culture.

Perhaps I can best illustrate this by telling you about when the manager told all the parents, all guys, that I had just got engaged. No one wanted to know about the ring. No one asked about how I proposed, instead, I got a sarcastic slow clap. You know the type of clap. The canucks hear it after losing 9-1.

When the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world told her girlfriends she was getting married, they wanted to hear every detail. See the ring. Hear how she felt.

Felt!

I was asked if I knew what I was doing. I was asked if I’d been drinking. I was asked if I understood this whole marriage thing.

It’s guy culture. No one could say they were happy for me. They had to tease me. That or they just hated me for constantly bugging them for money. I dunno.

So maybe it’s not a bad thing moms aren’t allowed in there anymore.It’s pretty basic. Pretty stinky. Pretty gross, sometimes. Unlike the Canucks, there isn’t a buffet in the change rooms. No fancy-smancy hot tubs bubble in the corner. No Swedish masseurs wait with hot towels.

IMG_3418But for ½ hour before the game and ½ after (of if you’re a goalie parent, then 2 hours before and after), it’s home.

We make the best of it.

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8 Reasons Minor Hockey Remains Superior to the NHL

Posted on October 25, 2015 by Joe Cummings

NHLI still think that minor hockey remains vastly more entertaining than the NHL. Not only is it free (at least to sit in the stands), but as I mentioned in early posts – here and here – it’s just plain awesome.

So, let us see why…

  • No fan gets called out of the stands to help one of the NHL players go pee. I think the players all know they have to go before they get dressed, but this is still something of a common occurrence in minor hockey.
  • The boys would die to have a change room like this!

    The boys would die to have a change room like this!

    We can go into the locker rooms. Imagine if the fans could all go into the Canuck’s locker room. What would we learn? (And I don’t mean what they look like naked.) Being a part of the locker room banter is fun. Watching kids try to tie their skates for the first time is fun. Listening to them talk to their parents about how many goals they’re going to score or how many faceoffs they’ll win or how hard they’ll play. Would the professionals do the same? The problem is, we’ll never know.

  • Sadly, it mattered too much how well Lou played

    Sadly, it mattered too much how well Lou played

    There’s still that one player on any team you’ll cheer for. You know that kid. Awkward. Can barely skate. Stick-handles like he’s drunk way too much the night before. But the kid’s trying his hardest. When he falls down, he gets up as fast as he can. When he’s beat, he skates his little heart out trying to catch up. Now, can you imagine rooting for the lamest Canuck? Would it matter how hard he tried?

  • In minor hockey, breakaways, even at the Atom level, are a pretty regular occurrence. Kind of terrifying for us goalie-parents, but entertaining for pretty much everyone else in the bleachers. In my opinion, they should have a breakaway rule in the NHL, where if one player gets to center ice, the others have to skate to the bench. I’ve seen it happen so many times in minor hockey, and it’s hilarious. The NHL needs to be more hilarious.
  • One kid tried to head the puck into the net. No way you see this in the NHL. First of all the puck is usually going the speed of light and if it actually hits someone in the head, it’s not good news. Lastly, no one thinks of it. Hey, they’re not soccer players, but most of the minor hockey players are. This is something they think is a viable action while scrambling around a net and the puck just kind of flutters nearby.

  • Players will cry in minor hockey when something bad happens. It’s not that I feed off the tears of children, it’s that this shows passion. This shows emotion. This shows they really, really care. They’re not collecting a million dollars a game, win or lose, they’re invested simply because they’re playing.

  • Your mom and/or dad can volunteer to do stuff. Maybe that’s what the Canucks need. Make it more of a family affair. What if Burrows’ dad was the coach? What if Miller’s mom managed the team? What if someone’s step-dad was the treasurer (though he’d have to be an idiot to volunteer for that one.) But having families a part of the whole hockey experience makes it just that much better.
  • It still matters if I show up. Not to some bottom line. Not so some player can earn an extra million on his contract. We show up cuz one little boy needs to know he’s always got someone rooting for him.
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My Big Mistake – A Hockey Cautionary Tale

Posted on October 24, 2015 by Joe Cummings
hockey mask

Who said hockey cant be terrifying?

I’ve made plenty in my new life as a hockey-parent, but this one may be my biggest.

I’ve signed up to be a volunteer for The Youngest’s hockey team.

Now, please understand that I’m not going to actually go on the ice, cuz that would embarrass both of us, no, I’m the designated collector of money from all the parents.

Yeah. I’m that guy.

To ‘sell it’ they called the position ‘the treasurer’, which sounded super awesome and powerful, like the master of coin in Game of Thrones. “He who controls the money, controls the kingdom,” kind of stuff.

Gord on a good day

Gord on a good day

But make no mistake, it’s going to be about getting the money. Big biker guys like my friend, Gord would be great at this. Nerdy guys with glasses like me, not so much.

So, here’s how my first day went. I went to the 6am practice. I was introduced as ‘the treasurer’.

No one seemed as impressed as they should have been. No one bowed down to my awesome power.

Then I learned I had to collect a fee for the jerseys. There was some debate as to how much, but I was told I’d be told.

Yikes!

excel

Exel to the rescue!

I left without much of a clue of what I had to do, but I hoped I’d learn more, later. Being a keener, and not having a clue, I did what I do when I don’t have a clue – I make a worksheet.

So I went home and created something on excel. The Prettiest-girl-in-the-world had to help me since I was so rusty, but I got the names of the parents, I added columns for payments, and I brought out my colored pencils for future use. I was totally ready.

Then, I brought my binder and fancy worksheet to our first game. And that’s when the fun began.

Parent #1. “So you’re the treasurer?”

Me: “Yup. Hey. Hi.”

“So do we give you $150 or $185? And that’s, like, for the jersey’s and the kitty and stuff?”

“Err what?”

“How much do we owe?”

“I, err, what? I dunno. No one’s said anything yet about a dollar amount, yet.”

Parent: “But you’re the treasurer.”

“I’m new,” I said.

Like a turtle pulling its head into its shell, I hoped that would make me safe.

It didn’t.

Parent: “When do I post-date the check for? April?”

“Post date? April? Errr. Ahhh.” I must have looked like the guy who decided it was a good idea to swim with the great white sharks without a cage. “I’ll have to ask.”

“But you’ll send us something on teamsnap?”

“Teamsnap? Err, no, that’s the manager.”

“You don’t do that?

“I don’t think so.”

“Who’s the manager?

I had to shrug. “No idea. We may not have one yet.”

Now it was all cool and stuff that people wanted to pay on the first day. Really cool. It was the last thing I expected. Even my worksheet had not been set up to accept cheques before anyone, including me, actually knew what cheques we’d have to write.

So, as soon as the practice was over, I asked the coach, found out the amount needed for the jerseys, took the few checks offered, then staggered out of the dressing room looking, I think, like I been asked to explain complex calculus to a class of 8 year olds. I had that same eye twitch thing you usually see in teachers at the end of the year.

Then someone took pity on me and decided to help me out. They managed another team and knew all the fees I’d have to collect, knew I had to make a budget, knew I would have to figure out tournament fees and ref fees and party costs and blah, blah, blah. It was all a blur.

But it gave me an idea of what I had to do.

LMHA symbolDays later, we got an actual manager and he confirmed what had been said to me. Together we worked out the costs, the needed funds, the budget and how I could link it all to the greater powers known as the LMHA (Langley Minor Hockey Association.) Christ, I felt like I was back in Accounting 200.

But then I realized just how much money I had to collect, how organized I’d have to be to make sure nothing fell through the cracks, and, as I feared, that a ton of my time, at least in the beginning, would be occupied with collection duties.

IMG_3419

Joe, what have you done?

What had I gotten myself into?

 

 

Posted in Hockey, Hockey Life, Parenting, Sports, Stepdad | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

2nd 5 Things I’m Doing Differently For Hockey This Year

Posted on October 23, 2015 by Joe Cummings

LMHA symbolAs this is my 3rd year, I’m changing things up a bit, you know, trying to evolve into a superior hockey-parent. It’s not easy, but what’s life without a little challenge?

So, the first 5 were yesterday. Let us continue…

6) I’m talking to everyone on the team. Part of it is because of #10, but I also made a commitment to my introverted self to stop being that guy who sits in the far corner of the bleachers and glares at everyone who tries to sit close to him. This year, I’m gonna be Chatty-Joe. It’s good training for me so I can reintegrate into the world. Plus, I’m going to do my best to make sure that I call people by their actual names. Progress, baby, progress.

The hoverboard that hasn't been invented, yet, McFly!

The hoverboard that hasn’t been invented, yet, McFly!

7) No longer making his brother go to every game. First of all, he’s not into hockey. At all. Second, he’s a teenager now and I’m learning to pick my fights. Lastly, he’s bored out of his skull when he’s at the game. And cold. And that leads to him parking on the corner of super-grumpy and outright victimized. So, he can stay at home and invent the hoverboard.

8) I’m not stressing when a goal is scored on The Youngest. So far this year, he’s been shellacked which, as the coach says, “is the BEST training for a goalie.” Why have an awesome team that makes sure no one shoots on you? Have one where the other teams are bouncing a good dozen off your helmet.

See, the thing is, it doesn’t seem to stress out The Youngest that he gets 10-12 goals scored on him in a game. He’s delighted he stopped the other 40. So why let it stress me out?

Yes, this is how I look in PJs. At least in my mind.

Yes, this is how I look in PJs. At least in my mind.

9) I’m no longer dressing for success. In the past, I would make sure I have my best jeans on, and a good shirt, you know, to look like a proper, prepared parent, Now, f*** that. Hell, I may even show up for a 5am practice in my PJs. I count it as a good day if I remember to wear pants at all. Honestly, it’s just too much work to iron at 4:30 in the morning and, frankly, everyone else looks like they were thrown out of a homeless shelter so why shouldn’t I? Plus, I should be more approachable with my hair going every which way and sleepy lines creasing my face like the Grand Canyon, right?

10) I volunteered to do something for the team. This could have been my greatest mistake of all. What was I thinking?

So, next post, let’s explore my mental breakdown that thought volunteering would be a good idea.

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Hockey Blogathon

Posted on October 22, 2015 by Joe Cummings
M1090002

Minor Hockey Goalie Sees the Puck, But Is It Too Late?

So it’s time, again, to do a blogathon. 5 Posts. 5 days. Sort of like my writing group’s blog, 5 writers, 5 novels, 5 months.

The topic… Hockey. Or more specifically, Langley minor hockey. Timbit hockey. McAtom hockey.

So for the next 5 days, expect a post on the following topics. Things I’m doing differently. The first HUGE mistake I made this year. On why minor hockey STILL beats the NHL. On the joy of changerooms or something about fitting in.

Stay tuned

This is my 3rd year as a hockey parent. Somehow I’ve survived. Oh, I’ve forgotten things, gone to the wrong arena on occasion, and called someone by the wrong name for a whole season. But, hey, I managed not to get into any hockey-parent fights and I didn’t miss a single game in 2+ years.

So I thought this year I’d take a look at what’s different, from a parent’s point of view, since, you know, that’s pretty much the only legitimate point of view I can write about.

Let’s get right to it.

10 Things I’m doing differently this year.  (The First 5)

  • One of the 200 water bottles I've bought over the years. Gatorade FTW!

    One of the 200 water bottles I’ve bought over the years. Gatorade FTW!

    I don’t stress when I’ve forgotten something. Usually the water bottle. I have a strange relationship with that thing. I’m pretty damn good about remembering the jersey, the pads, the protectors, the jock shorts, the epic-size goalie jock (which in adult league would be just be bragging) and all the other pieces of goalie equipment, but that bottle has a blind spot in my brain. I think it gets constantly pushed out when I store more amazing facts about the new Star Wars movie, but whatever. I forget it. So what? I can buy a bottle of water. I can go home and get one. No worries. Happens all the time. To everyone. No more stress.

  • Yes, I even took pictures of The Youngest on the bench.

    Yes, I even took pictures of The Youngest on the bench.

    I don’t take 2 million pictures a game. Oh, look there’s The Youngest drinking water with his helmet up! Click. Click. Click. Oh look, he’s scratching himself! Click, click. Click. Oh, wow, he’s fallen down. *set to video and shoot*. Nope. No more. It’s like you take a thousand pictures of your first child eating at the age of 1, but can you find a single one of the second child? And the third, they’re lucky if they get their picture taken at grad. Sadly, the newness – the amazingness –  has worn off. I just sit in the stands and drink with all the other parents.

  • I am not his coach. Or his goalie guide. It’s taken me 2 years to shut the hell up and stop telling him what he has to do. I mean, what the hell do I really know? I never played goal outside of street hockey. At best, I can watch what they tell him to do and parrot it back. However, I won’t lie, I’ll miss pretending to be Joe-know-it-all.

  • “Ok, I’m dressed already, can I play minecraft, now?”

    I’m no longer getting The Youngest dressed. You have no idea how painful this is in the beginning. It’s like watching molasses climb up a hill. In the middle of winter. But as The Youngest gets older, he has to learn to put on his equipment by himself. He has to learn to tie his laces to his pads, to tie up his skates, to struggle into his chest protector and jersey. To be fair, he’s not yet strong enough to do up his skates so that they’re tight, but the rest, yeah, that’s on him now. It took 90 minutes the first time. And a lot of complaining and begging. Now he has it down to 40 minutes, though the complaining and begging persists. But that, too, will end and by next year, he’ll be alone in that room, sadly, no longer needing anyone in there to help him.

  • tripping

    This may or may not be a ‘meme’. I’m still trying to sort it out.

    I don’t trip on the rubber floors of the arena any more. You have no idea how hard this is NOT to do. They’re all uneven and dark and rubbery and sticky, and every so often, there’s a part that’s just poking out the right amount to catch the front of my shoe. Then I do an epic stumble, timmy’s double-double flying everywhere as I pirouette like a drunken ballerina and try not to fall into the arms of one of the moms. The secret to not tripping, I’ve learned, is to go slow, (like you’re 90 or something.) So if you ever see me shuffling around the arena like I look like I need a walker, that’s why.

So, yeah, hockey season starts, again, but this year’ll be different!

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