This is my first
Father’s Day as a Dad.
I love my newborn
twins.
But, I think I love
hockey and the Canucks more.
To be fair, hockey
came first.
My little ones are
about a week old, and I’m beginning to know them I think. I realize most of the
personalities I see are projection. I’m building a story from a small sample
and the assumption of family traits. If I try hard enough, I’ll make them true.
I love the little
guys, but my love is found in their idea.
Some people say they
fell in love with their spouse, or babies, the first time they saw them. These
people are different than me. I imagine they are revising history, or have a
shallow comprehension of love. Love doesn’t come and go. Real love binds you
inseparably. That why they say, ‘for better or for worse’. The fact of love
doesn’t change when its circumstances do. Importantly, love takes time. Love
takes understanding. Love takes patience. And love doesn’t require passion.
I am passionate about
protecting and raising my little men.
But I love hockey.
I’ll always love
Linden’s determined grit, Pavel’s reckless speed, Henrik’s vision, Lu’s
reflexes and Snepts’ ‘stache.
I’m passionate about
hockey sometimes, too. But I’ve been in love too long to expect it to change.
The Canucks will continue to hurt my heart. My favourite players will keep
retiring. And my mediocre talents will fade into drunken late night
embellishments and dust covered gear buried deep in my garage.
There is hope for the
little ones, though. My passion will ebb with every feeding, diaper change, new
tooth and scraped knee. I’ll soon have more than the idea of you to hold. Here
is where your inevitable victory for my affections lies. I will always love the
idea of you.
I long ago realized
the idea of hockey is flawed. It is all imagined blood-ties and contrived
loyalty. It is play exaggerated and structured beyond absurdity. But, sometimes
the instances are perfect. Bure’s heroics in the second overtime of game seven
in Calgary was perfect. It was speed, acceleration and stick handling in a
three second burst that represented Bure-as-hockey-player exactly. Those
moments are the binding points of love. When I think about why I love this game
I think about moments like that. In a natural world leaning towards chaos and
entropy perfect moments are seldom experienced. Hockey lets me have those. And
my love of the Canucks is why I care they happen. But hockey is an idea without
an undeniable truth at its core. It is map without territory. There are cracks
in the centre.
You, little ones, will
make plenty of mistakes and I’ll love you for each folly.
But the idea of you is
perfect.
Note: This used to exist on "Pass it to Bulis" during the Vancouver Sun days. When PITB left, the Vancouver Sun got rid of the old posts. I was told it was acceptable to re-post this as a self-published piece. If that is not the case, please contact me. buddydudeguy AT gee-mail
