I think about his childhood. About how it looked. About how different it was from what most people would call “normal.”

No prom. No talking about what happened at school. Would he and his sister have been best friends? No typical high school experience. No just being home, living that everyday teenage life.

And I find myself tearing up thinking… did he miss out?

Did my son lose something growing up this way?

And then the questions start.

Is he going to resent it someday?
Is he going to wish he had those things?

I’ve spent some time sitting in that.

But the other day, something hit me.

For the first time, I stopped and asked myself…
is it really him I’m worried about?

Or is it me?

Am I the one who misses what that could have looked like?
Am I the one who wishes I had more time with him at home… more “normal” days that didn’t revolve around rinks and travel and schedules?

Because when I really think about it, he didn’t seem like he was missing anything.

He was where he wanted to be.
He was doing what he loved.
He was all in, every step of the way.

Maybe he didn’t have a “normal” childhood.

But maybe… he wasn’t supposed to.

Maybe he always had a different path. One that gave him independence earlier than most. One that built friendships and experiences that don’t happen sitting at home.

And maybe the truth is… I’m the one grieving something.

Not his childhood.

But my version of what it could have been.

The version where he stayed close.
Where life was a little slower.
Where I got to hold onto those everyday moments just a little bit longer.

That doesn’t mean I would change anything.

I guess it just means I’m a mom.

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And honestly… that’s all that matters.

Because what should have been a simple 9-hour drive home from junior hockey turned into a full 24-hour “are you kidding me right now?” situation.

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Let’s start with the plan.

Leave early.
Hit the pass in daylight.
Get home.

Simple.

Now let me tell you what actually happened.

He slept in.

Of course he did.🙄

Because why would we ever follow the one part of the plan that mattered the most?

So now he’s driving a mountain pass…🚗

At night.
In the snow.
On ice.

And somewhere, his dad is already pacing:

“I TOLD YOU.”
“I SAID LEAVE EARLY.”
“YOU NEVER LISTEN.”

Then…

BOOM. He drove over something sharp.

Blown tire.

Now he’s stuck on a dark mountain pass with:

No shoulder.
No safe place to go.
Semis flying by only inches away like they’re trying to qualify for something.

So he calls AAA.

Which was great.

Except they were like, “We’ll be there…”

Eventually.

Because of where he was and the weather, it was going to take hours.

Oh-and because this story wasn’t quite chaotic enough yet…

He also had no gas.

Because, and I quote:

“I thought I could make it to the next town where it might be cheaper.”

…

Boy.

You are stranded on a mountain pass in the dark in a snowstorm.
Now is not the time to comparison shop for gas prices.

So now he’s sitting there…

Freezing.🥶
Low on gas.
Trying to stay warm.

But also trying to keep his phone alive.

So he’s turning the car on… turning it off…

Meanwhile, I say, “Call the police.”

And I get:

“Mom… no.”
“Why would I do that?”
“That’s weird.”

Five minutes later:

“Do you think I should call them?”

…

Yes.
Yes, I do.

Let’s go ahead and trust Mom on this one.

So he calls.

They can’t come but they put it out on the scanner.

And then-this is my favorite part-😇

Some guy in a big construction truck hears it, finds him, and parks behind him with his blinkers on.

Just sits there.

Protecting him from semis.

Didn’t have to.
Did it anyway.

That man is a hero.🦸
He’s invited to everything from here on out.

And then…

Because this story isn’t crazy enough…

A police officer from another district pulls up.

Who didn’t hear the original call.

Walks up and says he HAS to move or he’ll get a ticket because it’s too dangerous.

I’m sorry…Really?

MOVE WHERE??

Into traffic?
Into the snowbank?
Off the mountain??

Sir. He’s not there because he wants to be there…..

Meanwhile, I’m at home trying to fix everything from my phone like I’m running a crisis center.

And my dad?

Laughing..as I’m telling him this story.

Not even a little.

Full-on laughing.

Shaking his head like:

“This kid… he just cannot catch a break.”

And honestly? He’s not wrong.

Because this is the same kid who:

• Forgets his stick but brings everything else

• Loses tape… while holding the tape

So of course this trip goes like this.

Eventually, the tow truck gets there and takes him to the nearest town around midnight.

And when I say town… I mean… let’s manage expectations.

One hotel.
One tire place.
That’s about it.

Now we are to the next morning. The tire shop.

Do they have the tire?

No.

Of course not.

But wait…it gets better.

They can’t even change the tire.

Because they don’t have the key to get the lug nuts off.

THE KEY.

So now it’s:

“We can’t fix it…
we can’t take it off…
and we might not be able to for a few days.”

A few days.

I’m sorry… what???

So now I’m online, spiraling, trying to fix this from hundreds of miles away. Looking on Youtube “How to take lug nuts off a tire when you don’t have a key……”. I kept saying there has to be a way…..🤪

And somehow…SOMEHOW…

They figure it out and get the world’s sketchiest spare on.

Just enough for him to go 40 mph to the next town….about 60 miles away.

And by some miracle… he finds a tire there.

At this point, you’d think we’re done.

Nope.

Because before he even left Alberta…

He got new windshield wipers.🚙

Installed incorrectly.

One swipe…

And the wiper just flies off.

Gone.

Into the wilderness.

And his windshield?

Cracked.

Like “pray even a drop of rain doesn’t land on it” cracked.💧

Back home:

His dad is pacing:

“I TOLD HIM.”
“I SAID DAYLIGHT.”
“HE NEVER LISTENS.”🤬

My dad?

Still laughing.🤣

At this point, he can’t wait for me to tell him more of the story…” You HAVE to tell your brother this story….It’s so funny!”🤣

And honestly…

At some point…

You just start laughing too.

Because what else are you going to do?

Because this is hockey life.

It’s not just early mornings and cold rinks.

It’s this.

The chaos.
The stress.
The stories that you truly cannot make up.

What should have been a 9-hour drive…

Turned into 24 hours of:

Sleeping in.
Trying to save money on gas at the worst possible time.
Blown tires.
AAA delays.
Random heroes.
Confusing police encounters.
Missing lug nut keys.
Flying windshield wipers.
And one very long night.

But he made it.

And I’ve never been more grateful to say that.😌

And somewhere in all of it…

My dad was laughing.

Because apparently…

This is just how my son’s hockey stories go.

And that, my friends, is another edition of Beyond-the-Ice
Until next time… maybe set an alarm. 😄

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Just remember, It’s not you.

It’s hockey.

Because this week alone, somewhere in the hockey world, a goalie decided he was no longer a goalie. Just left the net like he had somewhere else to be… went to play the puck… missed it… and then had to do that slow, panicked skate back while everyone in the rink collectively held their breath.

You already know how that ended.

Meanwhile, in my own personal hockey life…

We’re driving to the rink, barely on time, running on caffeine and chaos, and from the backseat I hear:

“Mom…”

I already know.

“I forgot my stick.”

How. HOW do you forget the one thing required to play the sport??

And somehow… it’s my fault.

Then there’s the locker room.

Practice ends… and you sit in the parking lot.

10 minutes…
20 minutes…
40 minutes…

And if you’re me… your kid is always the last one out.

Always.

At this point you’re wondering if he:

-moved in

-started organizing everyone else’s gear

-or just forgot how to take off his skates

Meanwhile, every other kid has come and gone…

And you’re still sitting there like:
“Do I go in? Do I send a search party? Is he living a second life in there?”

And then… finally…

He comes out.

Soaking wet.
No coat.
Hair completely out of control…
Holding one glove.

Just one.

And acting like you’re the one who’s been dramatic.

And of course… the gear.

You open a hockey bag and it’s not just a smell..it’s an experience.

Something between a locker room, wet dog, and life choices you can’t undo.

Some hotels literally make you keep it outside… and honestly, I respect that. That smell doesn’t leave. It settles in.

This week also reminded me of one of those moments you never forget…

We had a kid score a goal once..great play too. Skated hard, took the shot, puck went in…

But it was the wrong net.

And you could feel it instantly.

That split second where the whole rink just kind of freezes… everyone realizing at the same time.

And then you see it hit him.

The excitement disappears.
The realization sets in.
And just like that… he’s in tears.

And I swear, every single parent in that rink felt it.

Because it could have been any one of our kids.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the score. Not the mistake.

You just wanted to tell him,
“It’s okay. It happens.”

Because that’s hockey too.

And then, just to balance things out, somewhere else a kid scored and celebrated like he won the Stanley Cup…

Full knee slide. Arms up. Living his best life…

Score was like 10–1.

And honestly? I respect it. I want that level of confidence in my everyday life.

Back on the ice, a stick snaps in half… and the kid still tries to play with it.

Boy.

That is no longer a stick. That is a twig. Let it go.

There’s always that one kid:

Jersey backwards.
Socks twisted.
Helmet barely hanging on.

Already on the ice before anyone notices.

At that point… we commit.

And the bench moments…

Kid goes to take a drink-misses their mouth completely-water everywhere… and just sits there pretending nothing happened.

Or the kid who hops over the boards…

Onto the wrong bench.

Sits down like:
“Yep. This is right.”

It was not.

Meanwhile, in the stands…

There is always one parent breaking down the entire game like they’re coaching in the NHL:

“Keep your stick on the ground!”

Sir… they are nine.

And of course, hockey wouldn’t be hockey without this moment:

Fully dressed. Skates on. Ready to go.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

Now it’s a full team effort. Coaches involved. Parents involved. Kid waddling down the hallway like a penguin.

Nothing about hockey is simple.

And through all of it…

The chaos.
The smells.
The forgotten sticks.
The kids still in the locker room…

We keep showing up.

Because hockey isn’t just a sport.

It’s a lifestyle.

A loud, messy, unpredictable, slightly unhinged lifestyle…

And somehow, we wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Because if your kid plays hockey long enough… they’re going to have a moment-funny or tough-and they’re going to be okay. And so are we.

🥅That, my friends, is another edition of the Weekly Wraparound. Until next time… this is Alison-check your bag, grab the stick, and I’ll see you at the rink. 🏒

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From the outside, it probably looks like we willingly spend our weeknights and weekends sitting in freezing cold rinks while our kids chase a tiny black puck around the ice.🥅

And honestly…

That’s pretty much exactly what we do.🤣

But hockey life is its own world, and there are some things only hockey parents truly understand. Along with the hockey hair and hockey teeth, hockey life is also known for……..

😷The Smell

Let’s start with the smell.

No one, and I mean no one, can prepare you for the smell of hockey gear.

The first time you open a hockey bag is, to say the least… shocking. By year three, you’re convinced there is some science project growing in there.

Some hotels even set up spots outside the guest rooms for hockey equipment because they know that smell can linger for days-and they’d still like future guests to come back.

And they’re not wrong.

There have been times when my son took his hockey bag out of our car days earlier… and the smell was still so bad my daughter, her friends, and I had to drive another car.

😅And the smell may have actually saved us once.

One time my son and I traveled out of town for training and stayed at a hotel. We stupidly left his hockey bag and stick in the car overnight.

Well… the car got broken into.

The stick was stolen.

But the hockey bag had been opened and everything inside was left behind, including his $800 skates.

To this day we are convinced the thief opened the bag, got hit with the smell, and immediately thought:

“Nope. That bag wins.”

The smell is real.

☕️The Early Morning Games

Non-hockey parents think waking up early for school is tough.

Try waking up for a 5:00 AM hockey game. ⏰

Which means alarms going off at 3:30 or 4:00 AM.

There were mornings when the alarm went off and I just stared at the ceiling thinking:

“How did this become my life?”

You throw on whatever warm clothes you can find, grab coffee, and drive to a rink before the sun even exists.

Half the parents in the stands look like zombies.🧟‍♀️

Meanwhile the kids jump on the ice like it’s the middle of the afternoon.

And the parents are all sitting there thinking the same thing:

“Dear God, please let the coffee kick in before the second period.”

🧊🧊Surviving the Cold

Another thing non-hockey parents don’t understand?

Rinks are freezing.🥶

Doesn’t matter if it’s January or July. Somehow every rink feels like you’re sitting inside a giant freezer.

Hockey parents adapt.

We knew where every Starbucks near every rink was located.

Coffee became less of a beverage and more of a survival tool.

Some parents even brought portable heaters to the stands.

And I had what I called my “hockey coat.”

This thing went down to my knees. It wasn’t cute. It wasn’t stylish. But it was warm, and that’s all that mattered when you’re sitting in a rink for six hours.

Tournament days would start before sunrise and go late into the evening.

And just when you thought maybe you could sleep in the next day…

The championship game, the “chipper” ,would be scheduled for the morning.

So you bundle up, grab another coffee, and do it all over again.

🏒The “I Forgot My Stick” Moment

Every hockey parent has had this moment.

You finally get out the door.

The hockey bag is in the car.
Everyone’s dressed.
You’re already running late.

You start driving.

And then you hear it.

“Mom… I forgot my stick.”

Every time that happened my head would explode.🤬🤯

I’d immediately say:

“Just borrow one from the rink.”

And the response was always the same.

“No, I can’t. Mine is the only one I can use.”

Of course it is.

So now you’re doing the mental math.

Do we turn around?
Are we already too late?
How far have we driven?

Because somehow the one thing you absolutely need for hockey…

…is always the thing that gets left behind.

And yet, if you asked any hockey parent if they would do it all again; the freezing rinks, the early mornings, the smell, the chaos…

Most of us would say yes in a heartbeat.❤️

Because hockey life might look completely insane from the outside.

But for the families living it…

It’s some of the best chaos there is. 🏒

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🚨But there’s something I didn’t share in that post.

Years later, after we had moved to a different town and put that chapter of our lives behind us, our family found ourselves recognizing some of those same warning signs again.

This time it was with another one of our children.

A completely different sport.
A completely different town.

But the feeling was eerily familiar.

One of the hardest things about youth sports isn’t the travel, the cost, or the crazy schedules.

It’s what happens when your gut tells you something isn’t right.

And even harder than that-
is when nobody else wants to hear it.

Years ago during the hockey situation, we learned how subtle these things can begin.

The moment that still sticks with me, for our son, happened during a game. That hockey coach-who wasn’t even coaching his game- pulled him away from the bench during a game and took him aside alone for a few minutes. It might not sound like much, but my husband has what I call an eagle eye. Something about it didn’t sit right with him, and he watched closely.

After the game he asked our son what that conversation was about. My son-around 11/12 at the time- told us that coach (JJ) told him amongst other things- he was the best hockey player he has seen and wanted to coach him.

Our son absolutely loved that coach. He admired him and trusted him, just like so many kids do with the adults who coach them.

And that’s part of what makes these situations so complicated.

People who behave this way are often incredibly convincing.

They know how to win over kids.
They know how to win over parents.
They know how to present themselves as the most dedicated coach in the room.

They are expert groomers.

That’s why so many good families get pulled in.

Grooming rarely starts with something obvious or criminal. It starts small. So when we saw these signs from our daughter’s coach, we knew it wasn’t OK. These are signs to look for:

Private communication with players outside normal team channels.
Favoritism or special attention toward certain athletes.
Isolating players from the group.
Emotional pressure or intimidation.

Sometimes it’s even smaller things.

Giving gifts to certain girls.
Telling them not to tell anyone.

Healthy coaching environments don’t require secrets.

Years after the hockey situation, when we started noticing some of those same patterns again in another sport, it made our stomachs turn.

The difference this time was that we knew what to look for.

And we weren’t the only ones noticing.

Another parent on the team saw it too. In many ways she reminded me of myself years earlier during the hockey situation. She had that same uncomfortable feeling that something wasn’t right and couldn’t ignore it.

Her daughter, like my son years earlier, was one of the top athletes on the team. The kind of player coaches rely on. The kind younger players look up to.

That’s another piece people don’t always talk about.

Coaches who behave this way often build especially close relationships with their strongest athletes. It gives them influence within the team, and the attention can feel like recognition instead of something to question.

Together we started seeing a pattern.

So we did what parents are supposed to do.

We spoke up.

My friend went to the school where the coach teaches and reported what she was seeing. We reported concerns through SafeSport and submitted evidence. We tried to warn other parents about what we were noticing.

But there was one problem.

Without the consent of the families whose children were directly affected, nothing could move forward.

So the situation stayed exactly where it was.

The coach continued coaching.
He continued teaching.

And the parents who were trying to protect those girls were left feeling helpless.

Watching my friend go through that was incredibly hard.

She did everything she could to protect those kids. She pushed for answers and tried to get people to listen.

Instead of support, she found herself isolated.

And I knew exactly how that felt.

Because that’s often what happens when someone speaks up in youth sports.

At first you assume other parents must see the same things.

But slowly you realize most people are looking the other way.

Some don’t want to believe it.

Some don’t want the drama.

And some are simply afraid their child might miss out if they rock the boat.

Youth sports can create that kind of pressure.

Parents worry about opportunities, teams, playing time, scholarships. The fear of missing out can keep people quiet even when something doesn’t feel right.

There’s another thing that happens in youth sports that people rarely talk about.

Sometimes families just quietly disappear.

A kid who used to be on the team suddenly isn’t there anymore.

No big announcement. No explanation.

Maybe a quick comment about schedules or trying something new.

But later you realize those parents saw something too.

They just didn’t feel safe enough to say it out loud.

Eventually our family made the decision to walk away.

Not because it was easy.
Not because our child didn’t love the sport.

But because sometimes the most important job we have as parents isn’t helping our kids chase the next opportunity.

Sometimes it’s protecting them.

Even when nobody else understands why.

I don’t know if everyone will ever understand why some families spoke up or why others chose to leave.

And honestly, that’s okay.

Because my job as a parent isn’t to make other people comfortable.

My job is to protect my child.

And sometimes that means trusting your gut-

even when nobody else wants to hear it.

Sometimes the parents who speak up first aren’t trying to cause trouble.

Sometimes they’re simply the ones who have seen the warning signs before.

If Something Doesn’t Feel Right

If you’re a parent reading this and something about your child’s coach makes you uncomfortable, trust that feeling.

You don’t have to wait for something extreme to happen before paying attention.

Talk to your child.
Pay attention to boundaries.
Document anything that seems concerning.

And if you believe a coach’s behavior crosses a line, there are organizations that exist specifically to protect young athletes.

You can learn more about warning signs and how to report concerns through the U.S. Center for SafeSport. If sharing this helps even one parent trust their instincts, then telling this story is worth it.

Most importantly, remember this:

You are not a “difficult parent” for protecting your child.

You are doing exactly what a parent is supposed to do.

If sharing this helps even one parent trust their instincts, then telling this story is worth it.

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Six 100-year life sentences.

When I wrote about this story before on Beyond the Ice, the case was still unfolding. Families were still trying to process what had happened. Boys were still finding the courage to speak.

This week, the courtroom finally delivered a sentence.

Three hundred years sounds like justice.

But for the families who lived it, the story didn’t start in a courtroom… and it doesn’t end there either.

Because when trust is broken in youth sports, it doesn’t just affect a season.
It affects childhoods. Families. The way kids see the very game they once loved.

For many of us, the rink is a second home. It’s where our kids grow up, where friendships form, where confidence is built shift by shift.

We hand our kids over to coaches believing they will guide them, protect them, and help shape them into better people.

Most of the time, they do.

But sometimes that trust gets shattered.

Long before this case ever reached a courtroom, there were whispers. People quietly wondered why this coach had left the state he came from. Rumors that something had happened before he ever arrived in our small Montana hockey community. This article is shows us that:

Adina’s Substack

When a Mandated Reporter Dies & the Questions Remain

A founding investor and Board Director of Santa Rosa’s Epicenter sports and entertainment complex, Mike Sechrist, also served as a Board Director and investor in Tahoe Prep Hockey Academy, California’s first hockey preparatory boarding school. The academy, located on a 16.2‑acre campus in the Meyers community of South Lake Tahoe, was promoted as a premi…

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4 months ago · 4 likes · Adina Flores

Some of us voiced concerns.

And I’ll be honest, it cost us. Friendships changed. Some people stopped talking to us. Because when something like this is suggested, many people simply can’t believe it. It’s easier to think someone must be mistaken than to face the possibility that something terrible could be happening right in your own community.

But sometimes the hardest truth is the one people don’t want to hear.

But in youth sports, we often trust first and question later.

And sometimes that trust comes at a cost no family should ever have to pay.

During the sentencing, one brave, amazing parent read an impact statement that captured something many of us have struggled to put into words. With names removed, I’m sharing part of it here because the reality of what happens to families after something like this rarely makes the headlines.

“Four years.

It has been four years since you shattered our hockey world—since you took something that was safe, joyful, and sacred, and made it dangerous.

We trusted you.
We defended you.
We went to bat for you.

Our kids loved you. They admired you. You positioned yourself as a mentor—a second father figure.

And yet here you are—trying to discredit the very boys you taught to tell the truth.

You chose boys you believed would stay silent.
You chose boys you thought would be too afraid to speak.

You were wrong.

Yes, they were victims.
But that is not who they are.

They are strong.
They are brave.
They are truth-tellers.

You tried to take their voices.
Instead, they found them.

Our children have reclaimed the ice. They reclaimed their voices. You took years from them—today, this court takes everything else from you.”

Three hundred years in prison will never give those boys their childhood back.

It won’t erase the confusion, the silence, or the questions families had to answer that no parent should ever have to face.

But maybe it reminds us of something important.

Youth sports should never protect a reputation over a child.

When something feels wrong, we can’t look the other way. We can’t whisper about it in parking lots and hope someone else deals with it.

We protect the kids.

Every single time.

Because hockey is supposed to build them up, not break them.

Protect the kids. Always the kids.

Alison— Beyond the Ice

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He told his dad.

Then he told me later, casually. Like it wasn’t something that could rattle me.

And I knew exactly why.

Because he knows I’m the one who fought for college.

I’m the one who pushed for steady, normalcy. For something that looked like a real life beyond the rink.

He gave me that.

He got accepted to college and signed up for classes. He was recruited to play college hockey for their team- that had one of the best seasons in program history. He has a core group of good buddies there, boys he already battled with in high-level Junior A. They’ve had fun. They’ve built something that all hockey players do-a brotherhood.

He didn’t have the same pressure.
He wasn’t looking over his shoulder every day.
He wasn’t waiting for a trade.

The adjustment to college life was hard for him- very hard, but he was doing it.

And yet……… he doesn’t love it.

He loves hockey.

And when he talks about this playoff push, I hear something different in his voice. Something alive.

And here’s the part that I hate to admit:

I’m scared he loves hockey more than he’ll ever love the life that’s supposed to come after it.

I’m scared that when hockey ends, and it will, he’s going to feel lost.

I’m scared that he’s defining who he is so tightly to the game that when it’s gone, he won’t know who he is without it.

College felt like the beginning of him becoming more than just a hockey player.

Junior feels like doubling down on it.

And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to watch that.

When he told me, I kept it together. Asked the questions. I talked to him about how he was going to keep up with school, etc. He had it all figured out.

Then I went somewhere quiet and cried. I didn’t just cry for a little bit-I cried and cried.

I cried because I realized my son was careful with me. He softened it. He into it. He told his dad first because he knew I would feel it too deeply.

And I hate that.

I never wanted to be the mom whose fear sits in the room with his dreams.

But I also can’t pretend I don’t have fear.

I have watched this sport take everything from some boys. Identity. Confidence. Direction.

He loves it so much.

And I’m terrified that loving something that much can leave you empty when it’s over.

So yes, of course, I’m proud he’s wanted.

Yes , I know it’s an opportunity.

But underneath all of that?

I’m scared he’s choosing the version of life that keeps him a hockey playe instead of becoming the man he’ll have to be when the skates come off for good.

That’s what I cried about.

Not Canada.
Not playoffs.

The someday when the game ends and I pray he knows who he is without it.

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This week wasn’t about potential.

It was about proof that women’s sports can be just as intense as men’s sports.

🇺🇸 Gold on the Biggest Stage

USA vs. Canada. Olympic final. Overtime.

One shot ends it.

It wasn’t luck. Just pressure and composure.

That wasn’t a feel-good story.
That was elite hockey.

Structured. Physical. Earned.

And when that puck hit the net? It wasn’t just celebration, it was validation. Years of work collapsing into one moment.

Women’s hockey doesn’t look like it’s asking to be taken seriously anymore.

It looks established.

Did you see how she dangled the goalie? That was skill my friends.

🥇 Minnesota U12: Same Energy, Smaller Rink

Meanwhile in Minnesota another overtime for gold.

A playoff game between the Cottage Grove Wolfpack and the St. Paul Capitals at Doug Woog Arena turned into a two-day marathon.

Tied 1–1.

No ties allowed in playoff games.

So they played six 15-minute overtime periods.

Over 70 minutes of extra hockey.

The game started Monday night and had to be finished the next day.

Twelve-year-olds.

Six overtimes.

At some point, it stops being dramatic and starts being sheer will.

Cottage Grove finally buried the winner.

Game over. History made.

But what stuck with me wasn’t just the length.

It was the composure, the will of those girls to keep playing with all they had.

Can you imagine? Parents pacing. Coaches pretending they’re calm. Twelve-year-olds hopping the boards like this is exactly where they belong.

The Part That Hit Me

There was a time when girls in this sport were just hoping to be included. Now they expect to win championships. Now they step into overtime like it’s theirs.

That’s different.

That’s a shift.

The Ladder Is Real Now

Between youth hockey and the Olympic podium sits the Professional Women’s Hockey League.

That middle step matters.

There’s a visible path now.

Youth → College → Pro → Olympics.

Girls don’t have to imagine where this goes.

They can see it.

“This One’s for the Girls”

Until next week. This is your Weekly Wrap Around.

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This week gave us another classic hockey moment LA Kings forward Warren Foegele lost a skate blade mid-play and crawled back to the bench like a baby deer on ice.

No whistle. No dramatic pause. Just a professional athlete dragging himself across frozen water because in hockey, we don’t limp, we crawl.

Watch it here:

Tell me another sport where this is just… accepted.

The Bench Door: Still Undefeated

We spend thousands on equipment.
We train year-round.
We analyze systems and video.

And yet the bench door continues to humble grown men.

There was another beauty of a line change fail floating around this week. Physics wins again.

See it here:
https://www.instagram.com/nhlhumor/reel/DUONpHgEStZ/?hl=en

Somewhere, every hockey parent nodded and thought, “Yep. That tracks.”

Skate Blades Are Apparently Optional

If you thought one blade incident was enough, think again.

Another clip made the rounds of a blade popping clean out mid-play. Because apparently this is just part of the sport now.

Watch it here:

Other sports would stop the game.

Hockey says, “Figure it out.”

And That’s Hockey.

And as ridiculous as it all is ,the crawling, the door defeats, the disappearing blades - it’s also exactly why this sport is what it is.

Hockey players don’t stop when something breaks.
They adjust.
They drag themselves off.
They come back next shift.

It’s chaotic. It’s dramatic. It’s slightly unhinged.

But if you’re raising one of these boys, you know —
that part isn’t funny at all.

It’s the lesson.

And that does it for this weeks Weekly Wrap Around!

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The first time you see a hockey stick leaning against a front porch, it stops you. At least it does if you’re part of the hockey world. There’s no sign explaining it. No flowers. No announcement. Just a stick, resting quietly by the door.

In hockey, that stick means someone has been lost.

It isn’t meant to draw attention. It isn’t meant to invite questions. It’s simply a way of showing up. A way for a community to say, we know you’re hurting, and you’re not alone.

I’ve learned that hockey has its own language when it comes to grief. In small towns and tight-knit programs, everyone feels it. Players, parents, coaches-we all do. These kids spend hours together on buses, in locker rooms, and on long drives through winter weather. They grow up together. They become family.

So when something unthinkable happens, words often fall short. The stick on the porch says what no one knows how to say out loud. It says we remember. It says we’re here. It says you don’t have to carry this alone.

Over the years, I’ve also seen a poem shared alongside the hockey stick on the porch. I don’t know who wrote it. Most people don’t. But if you’re part of this world, you understand it immediately.

A hockey stick on the front porch
Doesn’t mean someone forgot their gear.
It means a hockey player has passed,
And the community is standing near.

No words are needed, no questions asked.
It’s a sign of respect, love, and pain.
A quiet way to say,
You are not alone.

So if you ever pass a house with a hockey stick resting on the porch, slow down for a moment. It’s not just a piece of equipment. It’s a sign of love, of loss, and of a community standing together quietly, respectfully, and without needing words.

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This week’s wrap-around is all about hockey superstitions we pretend aren’t real- but absolutely are. 🏒

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The Things You Are Not Allowed to Change

At some point every player decides, “This worked once,” and from that moment on, it becomes law.

The No-Wash Rule

Winning streaks have been protected by some truly questionable gear decisions. Jerseys don’t get washed. Socks don’t get touched. Equipment starts to smell like regret, but nobody says a word because no one wants to be responsible for breaking the streak.

Getting Dressed in the “Right” Order

Same skate first. Same sock. Same glove. Every single time.
If someone distracts them or messes up the order, you’ll hear about it later. Possibly for years.

Stick Tape Is Sacred

Once a tape job produces a goal, it stays. Even when it’s barely hanging on. Changing it mid-streak feels reckless. Borderline irresponsible.

Goalies Are a Different Category Entirely

Every team knows this. No one questions it.

Goalies:

• Tap their posts before faceoffs

• Talk to the posts (out loud)

• Follow very specific routines getting on the ice

• Do not want casual conversation mid-game

And if a goalie has a shutout going?
You do not say the word. Ever. Not until the final horn. Everyone knows the rule.

Pregame Food, Music & Other Hockey Logic

Hockey logic doesn’t always make sense, but it’s taken very seriously.

Pasta Is Basically Mandatory

If there’s a pregame meal, there’s pasta. Usually with red sauce. Cream sauce makes people nervous, but they eat it anyway.

The “Lucky” Playlist

If a playlist is playing during a win, congratulations, that’s the playlist for the rest of the season. Even if half the team hates it.

Doorways Matter

Some players won’t step on logos or cracks entering the rink. Some tap the doorframe. No one remembers how it started. Everyone follows along.

Strange but True Hockey Facts

• Pucks are frozen on purpose so they don’t bounce as much

• Players swear certain rinks are “lucky” for reasons no one can explain

• Momentum is very real to players, no matter what the stats say

• Every player has a lucky item — tape, hoodie, helmet sticker, mouthguard — that cannot be replaced

Junior Hockey Superstitions Parents Know Too Well

This isn’t just a player thing. Parents are in it too.

• Kids refuse to change stalls once they score

• The “lucky” water bottle becomes off-limits

• One kid switches socks and somehow gets blamed for the loss

• Parents sit in the same seats every game, and panic if someone else takes them

Hockey superstitions don’t stop at the locker room door.
They extend straight into the stands.

Why Hockey Is Like This

Hockey is unpredictable. The puck bounces funny. The ice changes. One weird deflection can decide an entire game.

So players control what they can like: routines, habits, small rituals that make the chaos feel manageable.

And honestly?
If it helps them feel ready, calm, and confident, who’s going to argue?

Final Thought

Hockey players will trust years of training, countless practices, and endless drills —
but they’ll still blame a loss on a washed jersey.

And somehow, that makes perfect sense.

What’s the ONE hockey superstition you refuse to mess with?

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This isn’t about hockey development or elite pathways. It’s about the small moments that quietly shape everything that comes after -and what it feels like, as a mom, to look back on them.

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I didn’t realize how much I’d miss the early years until we were long past them.

I remember when my son was four and went to his first local junior hockey game. He loved it.
Not long after, I signed him up for house hockey, partly because he was excited, and partly because it meant I wouldn’t be driving him up to the ski hill all the time. If hockey hadn’t stuck, skiing would have. His dad was on the U.S. ski team, and our kids were practically on skis before they could walk.

I’d pick him up from his Montessori school and change him in the rink locker room. It took me a good 45 minutes every time. I had no idea what I was doing. The skates were another story. I remember sitting in the locker room struggling with those long laces until another dad finally stepped in and showed me what to do.

I didn’t even know what equipment to buy. The rink let us rent gear for the season, which felt like a lifesaver at the time. I truly had no idea what was coming.

His first practice jersey was a plain red one that was way too big for him- sleeves hanging past his hands, it was so long it almost covered his breezers- and he absolutely loved it. I still can’t believe he was only four.

I remember the drives to practice, him suddenly yelling, “Mom, I forgot my stick!” and me almost wanting to lose my mind. Those moments feel so far away now.

Back then, hockey was just fun. No pressure. Just kids laughing, falling, learning, and loving the game. I made friends in the stands, my daughter was still a baby that I toted along everywhere, and without realizing it, we were building a community that would last far beyond the rink.

Somewhere between then and now, things changed. Not all at once, just quietly. He started dressing himself. Tying his own skates. And as much as it had been a struggle for me, I remember realizing that the day he could do it on his own was the day he didn’t need me in the same way anymore.

The game got faster. The stakes grew. My role shifted from doing everything to stepping back and trusting him more. That’s what I miss about the early years, not because they were better, but because they were simpler.

I was just trying to get him dressed and on the ice; I didn’t know I was slowly learning how to let go.

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A junior player took warmups without realizing his helmet strap was completely undone.
Every stride = helmet sliding.
Every whistle = teammate trying to fix it.
Player response: continued skating like nothing was happening.

Why it’s funny:
No one said anything because everyone wanted to see how long it would take him to notice.

(It was several minutes.)

🏒 The “Accidental” Line Change

A kid jumped over the boards confidently…
Right into the wrong line.

Wrong position.
Wrong group.
Wrong drill.

He didn’t realize until the coach stopped everything and said,
“Who are you?”

Junior hockey skill unlocked:
Looking calm while internally panicking.

🧤 Goalie Forgot He Was Starting

Warmups ended.
Team lined up.
Backup goalie still stretching.

Turns out no one actually told the starter he was starting.

He played great.
Still mad about it.

📣 Parent Yells… to the Wrong Kid

Classic rink moment:
Parent loudly yells instruction :
“GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT!”

Kid turns around confused.
Different jersey.
Different team.

Parent slowly sits down and pretends to check phone.

Universal rule:
If you’ve never done this, you’re lying.

🚌 Bus Trip Comedy Hour

Long bus ride.
Silent bus.
One kid accidentally plays music out loud -full volume-for two seconds.

Those two seconds included:

• yelling

• clapping

• demands to “PLAY IT AGAIN”

That song is now banned forever.

🧢 Coach Tried to Be Serious. Failed.

Coach gave a passionate pregame speech.
Strong points.
Big energy.

Ended it with:
“Let’s go out there and… uh… do hockey.”

Team loved it.
Speech immediately became a catchphrase.

🥅 The Easiest Goal… Missed

Breakaway.
Wide-open net.
Crowd already cheering.

Puck hits post.
Silence.

Player skates straight to bench, sits down, pulls jersey over face.

No chirps needed. Hockey did the work.

That’s the wrap! See you at the rink.

References: Hockey league announcements, team and league social media posts, and real-life moments observed around the rink this week.

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I didn’t expect that watching my son play hockey would get harder as he got older.

Not because I don’t want to. I love watching how fast they skate, how quickly they handle the puck, and how instinctively they make plays. It’s a real skill, and it always leaves me in awe.

When he was younger, my competitive side probably took over more than I realized. At this elite junior level, it’s different. It’s not just competitiveness anymore, it’s my mom heart too. The game is more physical. Fights happen. Injuries happen. And once you’ve watched your kid need immediate hospital care more than once, your body never really forgets that fear.

I learned quickly that getting involved usually makes things worse. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared too much. My husband, an elite athlete himself, told me early on that unless something truly crosses a line, stepping in only adds pressure. I trusted that, even when every instinct in me wanted to protect my kid.

I’ve also seen what happens when parents do get involved. I’ve seen the confusion and sadness on athletes’ faces. Kids who still love the game, but feel caught in the middle. The fun starts to disappear, not because of hockey, but because of everything around it.

When kids reach an elite level early, especially around 14, the environment changes fast. It isn’t really for parents anymore. It’s for athletes to learn accountability and resilience.

There’s another part people don’t always see. My son doesn’t want me to watch the hardest moments either. My husband is always there and keeps me posted, and that’s something we’ve quietly agreed on.

It’s not that I don’t love watching his games. I do. But I don’t need to see every hit or fight to be proud of him. He doesn’t live at home, and most games are televised anyway. I’ll check in. I’ll watch when I can. I’ll hear about it after.

I don’t have this figured out.

I’m still learning how to love the game, love my kid, and sit with the parts that scare me.

If you’re a parent sitting in the stands feeling all of this and not knowing what to do with it, you’re not alone.

Staying out is work. And some days, it’s the hardest part.

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Here’s what actually mattered this week- plus why parents were either laughing, shaking their heads, or forwarding links to group chats they swore they muted.

💰 Junior Hockey Introduces NIL Pay (Yes, Really)

The USPHL officially announced a performance-based NIL system, allowing junior players to earn money tied to on-ice results.

Read it here:
👉 USPHL unveils performance-based NIL system for junior players
https://apnews.com/article/d3de2e0254a82dbc5222dc5e6dbc4066

Parent translation:
Junior hockey just added money to a system that already included rankings, billets, advisors, ice time, and emotions.

Nothing could possibly go wrong.

🥊 When “Mites on Ice” Becomes the Main Event

A youth hockey intermission game involving 8-year-olds went viral after turning into a full-on brawl — and somehow, no adults stepped in immediately.

Yes. Eight.

Read it here:
👉 Youth hockey brawl during intermission sparks investigation
https://people.com/youth-hockey-game-erupts-into-chaotic-brawl-during-intermission-11883685

The uncomfortable truth:
Kids don’t invent this stuff. They absorb it

.

⭐ USHL All-American Game Delivers Drama (and Content)

The USHL All-American Game lived up to the hype with a late goal, big energy, and a reminder that the future of hockey is already intense.

Read it here:
👉 Team Blue wins 2026 USHL All-American Game
https://ushl.com/news/2026/1/16/mens-ice-hockey-team-blue-wins-all-american-game.aspx

Still true:
Elite talent, elite pressure… still can’t find their gear bag without help.

🚌 Bus Trips Remain the Real Development Program

This week’s junior hockey social feeds were full of bus vlogs:

• broken heaters

• energy drinks

• 8-hour rides for 60 minutes of ice time

No headline needed here. Parents know.

If you’ve lived it:
This is where resilience actually happens.

🎬 Commitment Graphics Reach Movie-Trailer Levels

It’s commitment season, which means dramatic graphics, childhood photos, and captions that say everything except what actually happened.

The formula:
“Honored to commit.”
No details.
Comments disabled.

The reality:
The decision took months. The graphic took longer.

The Big Picture

Junior hockey continues to be exactly what it’s always been:

• high-stakes

• emotional

• exhausting

• and occasionally hilarious when you zoom out far enough

The kids are grinding.
The parents are learning restraint (sometimes).
And the stories keep writing themselves.

See you next week same rink, different chaos.

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They notice every practice.
Every tone change.
Every moment something feels off.

When my son was going through the hardest season of his hockey life, every instinct in me wanted to step in. To protect him. To say something to that awful coach. To make it stop.

But he begged me not to say anything.

That’s the part people don’t always understand.

He wasn’t confused.
He wasn’t naïve.
And he wasn’t too young to know what was happening.

Even at 14 or 15, he understood that if I got involved, it would only make things worse.

He knew the spotlight on him would get brighter.
He knew ice time could disappear quietly.
He knew the situation could turn from bad to unbearable.

So he begged me to stay out of it.

There were parts of me arguing with myself the entire time.

Should I go to the coach and say something?
Am I failing my child by not stepping in?
Is he too young to be making a decision like this on his own?

Those questions followed me everywhere- to the rink, to the car ride home, late at night when I couldn’t sleep (and believe me there were lots of sleepless nights).

Staying quiet didn’t come from confidence.
It came from constant doubt.

But through all of that, one thing stayed clear.
This wasn’t my battle to fight.

He asked me not to say anything.
He asked me to trust him.

So I did.

And I’m actually proud of myself that I did. I don’t know about you, but I have a very hard time keeping quiet. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but a powerful one.

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There’s an unspoken rule in elite hockey that no parent wants to accept:

Getting involved is a big NO.

That’s hard-because our instinct as parents is to protect, to fix, to speak up when something feels wrong. Staying quiet can feel like betrayal, even when it’s not.

When a Coach Crosses the Line

My son had a coach who was awful to him.

He singled him out.
Talked down to him.
Treated him in ways that slowly crushed his confidence.

Other players noticed it too. They’d say they didn’t understand why the coach seemed to dislike him so much.

That coach took the love of hockey away from my son.

And that made me furious.

Watching the Love Disappear

This was a kid who had been recognized as one of the best players in the country for his age group. Hockey wasn’t just something he did-it was who he was.

And yet, because of one coach, he reached a point where he didn’t even want to play anymore.

As a mom, watching that happen was devastating.

The Moment I Had to Stay Quiet

Every part of me wanted to say something.
To defend him.
To call it out.

But my son begged me not to.

Even at 14 or 15, he understood something many parents don’t:
If I got involved, it would only make things worse.

So I stayed quiet.
Not because it was easy-
but because it was necessary.

Why Getting Involved Can Make It Worse

What many parents don’t realize is that stepping in often does more harm than good.

It puts a bigger spotlight on the player.
It changes how coaches view them.
And it can quietly make an already bad situation worse.

The Truth About Parent Reputations

I know teams that won’t take a player-no matter how talented-because they don’t want to deal with the parents.

At this level, coaches don’t just evaluate the kid.
They evaluate the family that comes with them.

And once that reputation sticks, doors don’t slam shut.
They just quietly stop opening.

What Staying Quiet Really Means

Staying quiet doesn’t mean you don’t care.
It doesn’t mean you agree.
And it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Sometimes it means you’re protecting your child in the only way you can.

Looking Back

My son survived that season.
He found his way back to the game.

And today, he’s stronger for it-not just as a hockey player, but as a young man.

That season taught me something I’ll never forget:

Sometimes the hardest thing a parent can do is stay silent.

🏒🚨Someone forgot their game jersey and didn’t realize until warmups were done. Sat on the bench fully dressed, helmet on, staring straight ahead while the trainer sprinted for a backup like it was a fire drill.🏃🏼‍♂️

🏒A clean line change turned into a disaster when a guy clipped the bench door and went down in slow motion. No whistle. Play kept going. He popped up like nothing happened. Bench reaction said otherwise.😂😂

😳🧊There was also the classic “everyone thought it was icing” moment. Entire team peeled off, linesman waved it off, and suddenly one forward was left defending a 2-on-1 by himself. Now that’s a tough look.😰

🏒One player snapped a lace mid-game and came off panicking. Trainer taped the skate so aggressively it looked medically illegal. He finished the period. No follow-up questions.⚕️😧

🥅And of course, a goalie tried a big stretch in warmups, lost an edge, and slid halfway out of the crease. Stayed down an extra second just in case no one noticed. Everyone noticed.😂😂

That concludes today’s ‘Weekly Wraparound’. We’ll be back next week with more goals, more chaos, and more stories nobody will admit happened.

🏒One team showed up to an away game with two left gloves and no right ones. I wish I was kidding. Equipment manager of the year? Not this week. Somehow they made it work, because junior hockey players will figure it out no matter what.

🥅A goalie went viral after making a huge save with his helmet strap hanging off. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t rush. Fixed it during the whistle like this was a totally normal thing. Goalies really are a different breed.

🚍Then there was the bus stop story. Team stops for food… and leaves a defenseman behind. He ends up calling the coach from a gas station, still in full team gear. The bus turned around. Eventually. You know there was yelling.

🏒Warmups didn’t disappoint either. A player tried a fancy puck flip, hit the scoreboard, and set off the goal horn. Whole rink thought it was a goal. It wasn’t. Awkward.

Throw in some chirps that were way funnier than they were clever, broken sticks at the worst possible times, and the usual chaos that comes with this level -and you’re reminded why junior hockey is what it is.

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When my son left for college, I kept thinking about everything he had already been through- the tough seasons, the politics, the moments he felt misunderstood, the times the game he loved felt heavier than it should. I’ve written before about how hard it was for him to transition into a classroom, too. Hockey was always his safe place. The classroom was where things got tough for him.

And to be honest, I wasn’t sure how this part was going to go. Sitting through long lectures… studying for actual college exams… talking to professors… keeping track of assignments… balancing hockey… working… all of it felt like a lot for someone who’d spent most of his life chasing pucks, not textbooks.

But this semester?
He surprised me- and maybe even surprised himself.

He learned how to study for his math tests, and passed.
He showed up to every class- even the early ones.
He communicated with his professors when he’d miss for hockey, and he actually talked to them when he needed help.
He kept a job, managed his schedule, and somehow balanced it all without falling apart.

He didn’t give up when it got overwhelming.
He didn’t hide from the hard parts.
He just… figured it out and grew from it

.

And then came the part none of us expected.

My son and four other new recruits didn’t just join the university’s hockey program this year - they changed it. They walked into a team that had lost almost every game in seasons past. A team that struggled to find its footing. A team that needed leadership, energy, and belief.

Those boys brought all of it.

Suddenly, they’re winning almost every game. Suddenly, people are paying attention. Suddenly, this team is being talked about- not as the struggling program, but as the one turning heads. And to see my son be a part of that turnaround… that hits different.

This is the same kid who once felt defeated by other parents’ opinions. The same kid who was labeled, misunderstood, and blamed for things no child should carry. The same kid who, at one point, looked at me with tears in his eyes and said he didn’t want to go back on the ice.

And now he’s helping build something special -on the ice and in the classroom.

It’s emotional for me, not because of the wins, but because I know the road he took to get here. The long nights. The self-doubt. The quiet strength he didn’t even know he had. The resilience he built through every difficult moment.

He isn’t just succeeding as a hockey player.
He’s becoming a student.
A teammate.
An adult.
A young man who doesn’t run from challenges- he works through them.

Watching this transformation happen from a distance…That’s the part that brings tears to my eyes, every single time.

He walked into college unsure of himself, and he’s walking out of this semester with confidence he earned the hard way. And as his mom, there’s nothing more I could ask for.

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If you’ve ever watched your child fight through doubt and come out stronger on the other side, I’d love to hear your story. Drop a comment or share this post with another hockey parent who needs to see it.
And if you want more stories like this, make sure to subscribe to Beyond the Ice — where the real moments of hockey life live.

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