What I Miss About the Early Years
When hockey was just hockey
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.
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.