Playing to Win

“Wow. That sounds really hard.” Jordan’s hand traced the line of my jaw, her face etched with concern.

“I don’t remember anything from back then, but we’re all still dealing with the aftermath.” I caught her hand in mine and pressed my lips to her palm. I’d never really talked to anyone about this stuff except Shari. After she and my dad had been married for a while, we started talking about things I’d never been able to discuss with my dad. She helped us in ways we needed.

“So what happened?” Jordan asked.

“Dad got better but Mom didn’t. She didn’t get help for her depression and when she turned to music as a sort of therapy, my dad got upset, accused her of ignoring me, ignoring him. She couldn’t take it anymore and when I was two she packed a suitcase and her guitar and took off in the middle of the night. We never heard from her again until I was five.” When my dad saw her on the cover of a country music magazine in the grocery store checkout line. He immediately tracked her down and filed for divorce.

Jordan frowned. “Do you see her much?”

I shook my head. “I’ve seen her a handful of times. She sends me text messages and a check in the mail for my birthday and every major holiday. Even some of the obscure ones like National Rubber Duckie Day.”

“Does that even exist?”

“January thirteenth.”

She giggled. “That’s funny.”

I agreed.

“I don’t understand what all that has to do with hockey, though.”

“Well,” I sighed. “Part of the reason my mom left had to do with her music. Dad thought all the time she spent singing and playing guitar was a waste. She’d do that rather than take care of me or the house while he worked. He never told me but my step-mom did after they’d been married for awhile that Dad would come home from work and I’d be naked except for a dirty diaper, screaming for food while my mom locked herself in a room with her guitar.”

“Oh, that’s awful.”

“Yeah, I’m okay with not remembering any of it.” I picked up my melty shake and took a sip. “She left us to pursue her dream of playing music professionally. It was her dream and we weren’t. That’s all there is to it. Dad has never forgiven her. He blames music for ruining their marriage, for the way she didn’t take care of me the way she should have, for everything. I have pictures of me sitting on her lap. She’s playing the guitar and I’m trying to play, too. Dad tried to keep me away from it, but after she left I was inconsolable, carrying around a toy guitar, not one with strings, but one that had buttons that would light up when you pressed them. Shari told me Dad would hide it and I’d cry. He finally gave in and bought a seventy-five dollar guitar from the toy section.”

“So, he wants you to play hockey because he doesn’t want you to become focused on music like your mom did?”

“It sounds crazy, but he’s convinced if I’m good enough at hockey to play professionally I’ll all the sudden develop a passion for it. And it’s not like I don’t enjoy hockey, I do.” I gave her a lopsided grin. “And I probably do like it more because I’m good at it, but I can’t deny the music inside me. It’s there and I can’t stop it and I don’t want to. He just doesn’t understand. For him, music is something that brought him a lot of pain. He blames Mom’s choices on music, but really, she’s just selfish. It has nothing to do with music. Lots of people have careers doing what they love and still make time for their families.”

Jordan’s hand caressed my forearm. “And you made a deal with the devil.”

I nodded. “When I was younger, he’d take my guitar away from me as punishment. Now, it’s more play hockey, keep up my grades, and he keeps his grumbling to a minimum. But I have to excel, work for it. Hockey can’t just be a hobby, I have to treat it like a goal.”

“Music is your motivation. Even in hockey.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief. She got it. She understood. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.

“I don’t want to bag on your dad or anything, but that’s kind of unfair. I mean, you aren’t your mom.”