Generation gaps

Once again my weekend was full. Full of family. Full of friends.

Though Saturday night with friends – old and new – was a major highlight, a fun event for all involved, the greatest part of my weekend was spent with my family.

On Wednesday of last week a cousin e-mailed to say she’d be in town from out of town. For her kids’ hockey games.

I looked over the schedule of games included in the e-mail and checked it against my calendar.

And bright and early on Saturday morning, I was there. At a rink I know. Watching my little cousin (cousin’s kid, second cousins, my mom’s cousin – I refer to all of them as just “cousins”).

And we talked. About life. My cousin (and my parents who were also in attendance) sat and smiled at the young kids skating around the large sheet of ice, missing the puck and colliding into the boards to stop. We reminisced on past games. Games we watched together. Talked about “last times” and “at the State Tournament” like it was a hundred years ago.

Inevitably, the topic of cancer and chemo came up. And my mom shared her latest updates with her niece. Updates that are uplifting and good. She talked about her radiation treatments, sleeping patterns, and growing hair.

While discussing cancer may not be a normal sporting event conversation, for our family, it kind of is. Because twenty years ago when Grandpa was sick with cancer, I used to sit in rinks and watch my big cousins play their Pee Wee and Bantam games in an effort to maintain routine and get outside the world of cancer and chemo. And I know that there were questions in between whistles and periods, thoughtful friends who inquired on my grandpa’s condition.

And as I sat there, watching my little cousin, I thought about the generations. The fact that I once sat in that very arena, possibly the exact rink, and watched his uncle (Cousin B) play in his USHL games back in the day. Back when I was just a kid. Back when Cousin B was just a kid. Back when none of my cousin’s kids were even born.

What an honor. What a privilege. What a blessing.

To be there. To be part of this. Family. The generations.

After the game, we waited in the lobby. And though the youngins don’t shower, it still “took forever” according to my cousin’s oldest kid.

When the un-showered kid emerged from the dressing room, wheeling his Easton hockey bag, I couldn’t help but think about all those games – a hundred years ago – when I waited for my big cousins to come out of the locker room (after waiting a million hours) and say hi. To congratulate or console.

To be there. To be part of this. Family. The generations.

The gaps may be large. Years in between. But the generations represented in my family continually remind me that no gap is large enough to separate the love we hold for one another.

A weekend of love. Hockey love, that is.

Land of the free. Home of the brave.

America was celebrated this weekend. Hockey style. There’s sales to prove it. Check your local ads.

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Love #1

The Gopher men swept the Beavers from Bemidji right out of Mariucci. A win, a sweep, deserves love any weekend. Especially this weekend. A critical weekend for the Gophers who were on the “bubble” in the pairwise rankings, but whose sweep this weekend worked them up to #8 (tied with Maine – coincidence?).

All four Gopher lines were clicking; creating chances and capitalizing on them. They showed up for a big weekend – in America and the WCHA. And I’d like to think that they were showing off, just a bit, for members of the 2002 National Championship Gopher team in attendance on Saturday night. Gophers who were honored and applauded for what they did 10 years ago this April. Against Maine (coincidence?). Of course, this celebration was missing a few Gophers who were unable to attend because of their pro careers (Contributing to the stats: Minnesota born-players active in the NHL = 46).

I hope it was inspiring for the current boys wearing the “M.” Boys who were literally boys back in 2002. To see some incredible Gopher greats walk out onto the ice and stare up at the crowd that cheered them on 10 years ago. Although, the Gophers on the roster right now have only to look behind them at their coaches for insight and inspiration into that championship team.

Lucia, Guentzel, and Poultony were all there in 2002.

They lived the moments that we watch highlight after highlight, re-broadcast after re-broadcast (speaking of Gopher and American hockey, did anybody else watch the re-broadcast a few weeks ago after the special on Herb Brooks?!).

I’m not going to jinx anything or speculate about what could happen this year. Frankly, a lot could happen. The WCHA is full of movers and shakers; any one of the contenders could easily play the role of underdog and take the jackpot. We’ve all seen it before in this league of extraordinary men.

All in all, it was a weekend to celebrate; former and current Gophers who know what it takes to survive and thrive in this cut-throat world we call American college hockey.

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Love #2

Golden boys were not contained to Minneapolis only this weekend. They were all over this great nation. Representing their franchise and country.

From the lakes of Minnesota, born and raised, hockey-bred and groomed, players who cut their teeth on Minnesota ice skated and scored in important NHL games.

Names that are so familiar to Minnesotans were called around the league by Doc and Eddie, Pierre, and crew.

T.J. Oshie. David Backes. Zach Parise. Nick Leddy. Matt Cullen. Chad Rau. Stu Bickel. Ryan McDonagh. Michael Sauer. Paul Martin. Alex Goligoski. Jeff Taffe. Dustin Byfuglien. Mark Stuart. Blake Wheeler. Keith Ballard. Erik Johnson.

All of those guys were born into greatness right here. In Minnesota.

A mid-western state in this great country. A state that knows hard work and determination.

And all of those guys were on the ice today. Playing alongside fellow Minnesotans. Playing against former teammates.

Minnesota was present and accounted for in an all-American hockey weekend.

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Love #3

A town in southern, Minnesota is on our maps. Our Minnesota maps. But due to exposure – print, television, and online – this town is quite possibly on your map, too.

Fairbault, MN. According to neighboring towns, attempting to arouse a response, this town smells funny. I have heard debates on such a matter from young and old, male and female. Unfortunately I cannot vouch for either side. My recollections of Fairbault contained no smell – good or bad.

Smell is hardly the reason this town is on the map.

It is on the hockey map because of the players the hockey programs (girls and boys) produces. A hockey program I have blogged and blabbed about at some point.

The NHL Network featured the college-NHL-player producing program by featuring some of the most notable players presently in the NHL.

Zach Parise. Jonathan Toews. Sidney Crosby.

Before they were Devils, Blackhawks, and Penguins; they were Sabres at Shattuck-St. Mary’s in our up-for-debate-smelly-town of Fairbault, MN.

All were noted (in today’s NHL feature) as hard-working (like we couldn’t tell), serious students, who were likable guys around the historic campus (that may or may not smell funny).

Parise’s last season (2001-2002) opened the gates for Crosby’s only season (2002-2003) which made way for Toews (2004-2005).

And those stars, at the prep, college, and pro levels, have paved the way to Fairbault, MN for countless other boys and girls (Crosby’s little sis is a goalie at SSM).

Smelly or not, you have to admit that Fairbault is a pretty great town.

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There you have it. A measly three reasons why I was feeling the love this weekend.

If you know me at all, you know that I could go on and on about the love thrown out for Minnesota by Liam, Mike, and Pierre.

I won’t spend sentences talking about the college hockey alums (Gopher, Sioux, Badger, and other WCHA notables) playing in this great American weekend. Against or with teammates, these former NCAAers suited up to play the game that got them through their college years.

This was a great weekend in the state of hockey. And for the game. All the players who wish to play for the Red, White, and Blue.

In honor of Hockey Weekend in America, I believe tomorrow is a holiday.

Summer camp guide

Summer Camp. The words alone conjure up many images for those of us fortunate to have attended a camp in our younger years.

Some remember the bugs and boys. Some remember the games and girls. Some remember the counselors and canoes. Some remember the food and friendships. Some remember the songs and silliness. Some remember the traditions and ticks.

Whatever you remember, whether good or bad, you remember summer camp. The anxiety you felt when your parents dropped you off. The relief you felt when you met your bunk mates. The hugs you shared at the end of the week with friends you’d only met days before at the archery range.

Summer camp.

In today’s world of Facebook and Twitter, it is even more important than ever that boys and girls sign up for life lessons, real life friendships, and time away from Nintendo DSI and iPhones.

So, I have for you my MN Meditations recommendation for summer camps. Completely different from each other. But incredible experiences for all who attend.

The first camp is more of a traditional camp feel with boats and beaches, archery, hayrides, and campfires. The staff is beyond incredible. Competent and friendly. They will open your eyes to the beauty of nature and the wonderful capabilities of every single human being.

Camp Confidence

The second camp I highly recommend is for any kid, boy or girl, ages 9-17 looking for a great week of hockey, friends, and faith. On-ice instructors, counselors, and guest speakers range from pros to parents, college kids to local coaches. All of whom spend their week at camp as volunteers who want to invest in young hockey player’s lives. They care about integrity on and off the ice.

The camps are located around the world. Of course, there are two Minnesota camps. St. Cloud is for boys. Minneapolis, U of M is for girls.

Hockey Ministries International

Whatever camp fits your kids’ needs, know that they are highly endorsed by MN Meditations. In fact, be sure to tell them that I recommended their camps. Who knows, I might see you there.

Happy Sumer camp planning!

People’s stories make me like them.

36 Hours.

I was afraid this would happen. In fact, I knew it would happen. The minute I saw previews for 36 Hours with Nicklas Lidstrom, I knew I would hear and see things about the Wings’ star that would force me to like him.

Before you think I’ve converted to a Wings’ fan, think again.

I can’t stand them.

But these human interest stories – they get me everytime!

They make me look at who the person is. Not the player. But the person.

It happened last year with the Sioux’s Matt Frattin. I can’t stand the team. And I wasn’t the president of the Matt Frattin fan club by any stretch of the imagination. But then I let myslef read stories about Frattin; about the changes he made in his life. And I ended up cheering for him. For success. For a Hobey.

It baffles me. One minute I loathe a team and any players wearing their colors. The next minute, I champion their efforts and wish them well.

Maybe it makes me a fair-weather fan of the teams I support. You may think it makes me weak and sappy.

I just don’t think either of those conclusions are correct.

It boils down to the fact that we make judgments about people (in this case, players) based on the logo they represent, the coach they are coached by, the league they skate in, and the line they play with.

Until.

We meet them. Get to know them. And see that they are human beings with families, feelings, and fears.

I kept the channel on Nicklas Lidstrom’s story. The pieces of the story he shared on television. And I let myself like him as a player, person, and parent.

I think the thing I need more of in my life is story time. Stories of players on teams I like and loathe.