Saturday night’s sticks flew, blood flowed and two men a generation apart came together. It was ‘Hockey Night in Canada’ with the Toronto Maple Leafs.
My grandfather and I didn’t have much in common until hockey brought the two of us close to one another. I was done with college and moved to his home in Sutton; a small town off of the southern shores of Lake Simcoe. Opa, German for Grandfather, became the dominant male figure in my life, my Dad having passed on.
Dinner had to be served by six p.m. so enough time could be freed up to settle into our recliners and flip on the television.
I laughed at his thoughts on the players, both the opposition and ours and his uncanny ability to predict penalties; although when he was wrong nothing was said. He kept tallies of everything from the start time to keeping score. All written on a Kleenex box so a fatal moment wasn’t missed.
He would hoot and holler and when a goal for the good guys took place cheers and applause were given out as he got on the phone sending the hysterics to his neighbor, another Hockey enthusiast.
During commercial breaks conversation began and the relationship grew. The age gap between the two of us made me hesitant about things remaining interesting, but it was no problem. If either his or my words became dull, we’d turn our attention to the pictures on the tube. And if we ran out of tales to tell we would talk the game over.
Family problems and ideas for resolve would be discussed without us worrying about getting too sappy, because we had the roughness and hyper commentary of the game. Although sometimes emotions got the better of us. The hockey play somehow made a tough discussion seem a little simpler.
My Grandparents were married fifty years and when my grandma passed away it was hard on my Grandfather. It was during those games that he talked about things. He would express how much he missed her, the cute gestures exchanged throughout their marriage, and the endurance shared between the two of them during the war.
Other topics to speak of were the memories we shared together as a family. One of our most famous time capsules was the Christmas trips to Opa’s German club when I was a kid. He would leave my sister and me with my parents once we arrived just as Santa began his approach. When the jolly old guy got there all of the kids would light up with excitement. I caught on though, “It’s Opa!” I would say to my folks who would constantly deny it but at the same time smile over their Son’s triumph.
We would rehash the adventures Opa had when getting our Christmas tree into the house, it was big and real and always bent a little at the top in our living room as it hit the ceiling. I can still remember the pine needles that covered the floor.
We would get lost in our past joys until ‘he scores!’ was heard. The replay and the tournament would be watched until commercial break for snacks or more talk came again.
We would go over the Easter occasions and the Thanksgiving gatherings. Opa would always colour the eggs and hide them for a giant hunt; and every Thanksgiving he carved the turkey followed by a prayer to thank God for the food and to send out well wishes.
I loved the hockey games and the memories.
“I love you, Opa.”
But it wasn’t always fond memories and family issues talked about, we also taught each other some things. He would talk about the Second World War and the telecommunication job he did; he was the only English speaking soldier. As well, he spoke of all that took place in boot camp; including the most hilarious story of how he wiggled his ears when standing at attention for his drill Sargent. I also learnt about my Mom and Uncle’s up bringing and their travel from their German motherland.
I was intrigued. Older people to me seemed a little frightening when I was young and as time passed I found them somewhat strange and awkward to talk to. But these hockey games in front of the tube, helped bring me to the elder generation. It was then that I began to understand just how much wisdom and maturity they had to offer, especially my Opa.
But I also did some of the teaching. A lot about school was talked over to a man who wasn’t used to modern day classes. I talked a lot about Art, and English Media. But what interested him the most was my talk of computers and the amazing things that could be done on them. The Internet was a mind blower; I even still get fascinated by all it does.
And I changed my Grandfather’s views on different races. He was brought up in different times and did not understand or even associate with other ethnic groups, but I taught him to accept and even befriend.
My Opa lived a good life filled with many joys and sorrows. Unfortunately though at age Eighty-one cancer struck. But he still managed to keep in good spirits and sometimes it seemed the greatest medicine was the moment the puck dropped. Problems would evaporate and the two of us would be back in the fast action and good conversation. The scary disease took no affect on what we enjoyed most together.
My Opa passed away in the very same chair that he loved so much to sit in, with my Mom by his side holding his hand. It was a sad time for us all, family and friends, but we got through it by coming together. At the funeral many wonderful words were said about a man we all loved and cherished so much.
I still think of the vast stories we shared when I watch a game. Even when I am with friends I take a moment to reflect. His voice still remains with me as I sit there with my eyes on the set, my heart in the memories.
“I still love you, Opa, and always will.”
The Leafs are my home team and for that reason I root for them, but they will always have me as a loyal fan, because watching them keeps me close to my Opa.