Cut

It is almost too soon to be writing about this topic, as the emotions are still so raw and so close to the surface. But sometimes, these things are best captured when the feelings are still swirling, still right there.

No one has died. I have not found out I have an incurable disease. We have not lost the house. But on Wednesday night my son and I walked into the dressing room on the final night of hockey tryouts and received the blow that he had been cut. The room seemed to collapse on both of us.

Now, some of you might roll your eyes at this (maybe even I would have not so long ago) and think there are much bigger problems in the world than not making a hockey team.  There are; of course there are.  But at that moment, and still now, it hurts.  It hurts to see my son upset, left behind and left out. It hurts to see our friends move on without us and to be uncertain about the future.

There were no politics involved, nothing to make me shout, “Wait! This is unfair. I want justice!”  No, he just wasn’t quite ready for the ‘big leagues’. It is almost harder not to have anyone to blame.

My son walked out of the dressing room strong. My eyes on the other hand began welling up almost immediately.  Leaving the arena, I did not want to make eye contact with anyone and by the time we reached the parking lot I was on the verge on becoming a blubbering disaster.  You see, I wanted to go to the final cut so I could be the one with him to hear he had made it.  I was not the right parent to deal face to face with his rejection.

It was not until we got home, wrapped in the strong but loving arms of his dad that our little guy fell apart (at least one of us had the sense not to cry in public). Then we were all hugging and telling our beloved son – and each other – that everything was going to be okay.

Prior to this year, getting cut from a team did not really bother #8.  He was just happy to be playing the game. And damn it, I wanted him to care.  But now he does care and I wish we could go back. Not caring would make all of this a lot easier. He is almost nine now and the carefree days of sport being only for fun are fading.  He has learned the hard way that there is more to sport that just playing and that is simply a part of growing up.

This weekend, he will play for his new team and sooner than later these difficult days will be in the past. He will make new friends and find his role once again. The game rolls on and we will (try to) roll with it.