Loves, New and Old: Reflections from a hockey loving Dad. (Repost)

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