The slighlty slit open door
When I was a youngster, at 6 years old, I was a bundle of energy like all the other infant kids on earth. My mother would put me to bed at eight o’clock and yet the last thing I wanted to do was exactly that: go to bed. As soon as she said to me: “Come on sweetie, time to go sleep!” my answer was invariably “Noooooooooooo!!!”. It seemed to me then that only the power of negotiation had a salutary role to play. By dint of tight negociations of short duration, the only possible gain resulting from my plea each evening was that of my mom leaving my bedroom door ajar so as not to lose this umbelical link with the outside world, still very busy, alive and well after eight o’clock. Once in bed, in the half-light of my small cell, in order to distract myself, I rubbed my eyes with pressure to create kaleidoscopic shows, I nibbled on the excess threads of my worn pajamas and I suffered chills caused by from time to time by the bursts of laughter emanating from the living room TV. Somehow, I patiently endured my boredom… But sometimes, on occasion, when I no longer expected someone to come and save me from the ordeal of having nothing to do, a night of glory would arise. There was a hockey game.
And as soon as the puck was placed in the face-off circle, my pain suddenly became joy. I dared, at the risk of serious consequence for such an affront to parental law, I allowed myself to slip out of the covers of my bed and walk silently, like a cat, towards the bright illuminated one inch slit present between door and frame giving into my cage, and sit right there near it on the floor. From that very spot, with my left eye skilfully placed, I could see the entire Canadiens’ games. My passion for hockey right then and there was born . It was not only that I discovered a beautiful sport filled with narrated excitement and the clamor of crowds; more importantly, it was also a promise that one day I would become an active participant in the life’s amazing adventures, after eight o’clock.
I had to endure my pain patiently knowing that one day, yes that great and beautiful day, I would be free. One day … yes … but then, never could I have foreseen that this very day of freedom would once again, during the course of my well engaged adult life, become a coveted fleece. I can hardly believe it still.
What is done is done. Our parents appear to be telling us that they will soon grant us the right go and experience the world. Yes, the return to hockey is coming. Let us get ready.
