Confessional Time

Like many Canadian kids growing up on the Prairies, I had dreams of playing hockey at a higher level. Believe it or not, playing in net as a goaltender was, at the time, a huge part of that dream. I worked hard at trying to make myself a faster, stronger, and more resilient player whom any scout would be crazy to overlook. I didn't tell anyone in case it didn't work out, but now I am at a point in my life where I think writing about this side of myself is a safe thing for me to do.

This was when I was a kid. And for those of you who haven't already figured this about me, I am a FEMALE. In my community at the time, there was little to nothing available for girls to do in terms of playing hockey. In fact, the closest thing was ringette. Which I thought was a bit of a cheat of a game because a person could hog the ring easily by never lifting their sticks, and I preferred the flying pucks. I didn't mind getting a bruise every once in a while, and heck, I have always been a tomboy.

I could read the ice extremely well, and could read what the guys who were trying to shoot in the net past me were going to attempt. That ability was something that created envy and happiness on the guys on my team and sheer annoyance and disgust from those I played against. Heck, I remember at one time, when I got a shut-out, one of the guys yelling "It's not fair, SHE IS USING WOMEN'S INTUITION AGAINST US!" which made everyone bust a gut laughing. Well, everyone except him, but that's his own problem...

In my mind's eye, I had everything perfectly planned out. I was going to get myself fit enough and tough enough and determined enough to play in the WHL or the SJHL as an overage player. I knew my mother would never let me play in any of these leagues, so the grand plan was to do this, on my own, once I was of legal age to play without parental permission.

I thought the plan was perfect.

But life, as always, threw an errant shot my way, which kinda dinged my grand plan straight into the recycle bin.

I was a passenger in a motor vehicle accident, and as a result, I wound up getting some serious neck injuries. As in, my C4 and C5 vertebrae were forcibly locked together. When they did finally come apart, they, along with the C3, developed serious cracks in them. So that kind of shot any future for myself pursuing any kind of contact sports right out of any dreams I had for the future. Also, as the doctors who were tending to me were more concerned about the whole neck being cracked up thing, they kind of left the whole "post-concussion syndrome" thing out of the equation when it came to my recovery. I didn't even realize I had it until about four years later when taking a university course about learning disabilities and a group of my classmates -- a few hockey players -- did a presentation about post-concussion syndrome. As they listed off the symptoms, I was listening and thinking the following:

"Check...check...check...check...? What the actual HELL...? That's ME!"

Now don't get me wrong, other than the physical injuries which sometimes still bother me, my life has been pretty fantastic. I guess I've always been the kind of person who will take the lemons I am dealt and make them into lemon squares. I mean, at the time, females rarely made it onto the male teams, so realistically, even had I been healthy enough to try out as a 20-year-old, I likely would have been bashed around and injured worse than I had been in the auto accident. Over the years, I have since earned two bachelors' degrees, the first in Education (visual arts major) and the second in Arts (film major, theatre minor).

Remember when I said a few paragraphs ago about how my dream was tossed into the recycle bin? It wasn't just me trying to be politically correct in my language. In fact, it's the truth of who I've become over the years since that first accident.

When I was attending the University of Saskatchewan, one of my Visual Arts concentration areas was in photography. It was a tough course and of course, as part of the course it was mandatory to use 35 mm film and develop all black and white film by hand. During that time, I basically learned how to use my 35 mm Minolta SLR at Rutherford Rink, "where it is officially three degrees colder inside than it is outside" (that was the slogan of the Dog House, and it wasn't far off the truth!).

I also volunteered at the Sheaf, the University of Saskatchewan's student newspaper, for a few years where I worked as a sports' reporter and photographer. That was where my love of doing hockey journalism began, as I realized, from my more mature perspective, that I could still be part of the game.

I have continued on in this line of work, along with working in film and television on both sides of the camera. I have always loved to write, either those things which are in my imagination or those things which are happening around me, helping to record the history of our times for years to come. I don't just do sports' journalism, as I have written features, news pieces, and art pieces, but to be honest, my first love has remained with the sport of ice hockey.

As far as reading the ice goes, that is a skill which has stayed with me. In fact, there was a certain NHL game I was at when I read the play and could SEE that a player, whom had been having an amazing game thanks to his very determined and gritty style of play, was going to get his hat trick goal. In fact, I bluntly stated "He's getting his third on this play!"

One of the other male reporters openly laughed at me, until said player got the puck in on the wraparound. At that point, while it was raining hats onto the ice, the reporter stared at me like I was some kind of freaky witch and asked me "How did you know THAT was going to happen?!"

I shrugged, "I read the play, couldn't you?"

In fact, I recently celebrated my birthday in what I considered the best way possible -- covering an NHL game which saw my favourite team from my childhood, the Oilers, against my favourite team from my adulthood, the Jets. At one point, a puck slid down the protective netting near where I was standing taking photos during warmup and it dinged me in the right arm. It wasn't a hard ding...I'd received much harder pucks to various parts of my anatomy when I played as a kid...so I had no trouble shrugging it off at all. After all, it was just a puck. I even did a bit of a chicken dance arm flap to prove to the rink attendant nearby that I was alright.

Getting out onto the ice would be a no-go for me unless I am wearing some serious ice-grip boots, but I will invest in a pair soon as I have a hunch the team which I am covering may be celebrating a certain championship title sometime in the future. Though I know I won't technically ever be the part of any professional hockey team, being able to be there to help document that trip will be enough of an honour for me. I am working towards getting my official league accreditation as a photographer, and that is something that nobody can ever take from me, once I get it.

Because so long as I am physically able to hold my Pentax DSLR in my hands and stand upright beside the boards, I can still live through the camera lens.

And for me, that is enough.