The Good Old Hockey Game

Ashley Echols

I am six years old and it is my first time walking into the frigid hockey arena. I have my pink backpack over my shoulder, holding tight onto my mom`s warm hand. My dad and brother left us as soon as we parked the car, to go into the dressing room and prepare for the big game. We take our seats on the wooden benches and begin to feel the warm heat blowing out of the heaters on the ceiling. I take my jacket off and squish closer to my mom. My grandma and grandpa show up and give me the biggest hug and kiss I had ever experienced. It made my sides hurt, when my grandpa picked me up to give me a kiss, but I try to outdo his squeeze by holding him tighter around his shoulders. The Zamboni whistles blows, beep, beep, beep, the sound of the Zamboni reversing onto the ice. Twelve laps of the ice and the rink is now shiny and wet, it looks like glass. Click, click, and click goes the door, the Zamboni is now locked away so the game can begin.

The glass doors open and the little skaters enter the arena banging their sticks on the ice. The sound of the sticks and the pucks hitting the ice startles me at first, but then I become fascinated by the action. A whistle blows and my brother and my dad hit the bench with the team. The opposing team takes a seat on the visitor bench, and gets ready for the game.

Six blue jerseys take a step onto the ice. One goalie, two defense men and two forward, and of course, my brother in the center ready for the puck drop. The red jerseys begin to follow us and take their positions on the opposite side. Two big people with black and white stripes take a very serious position, one in the middle, with the puck and one on the side looking at the middle. A whistle blows again and a puck drops; the game has begun. Whistle, clang, and whistle are the sounds I hear for thirty minutes. Three ten minute periods fill the thirty-minute game. Mixed cheering and clapping fills the arena, as the blue team scores the only goal of the game. Four seconds left in the game and we win. It is a very happy day for us.

A long horn sounds and the blue team hugs. They line up to shake hands with the red team. The game is now over. Parents, siblings and friends still cheer happily from the stands. Even though they are so young, it is important to show support. Mom and I pack up our stuff and head to the dressing room with the other moms to meet our boys. The dressing room is as loud as the rink. Conversations about how well the boys played filled the air. Parents talk about what we can do to celebrate this wonderful win and feed everyone. All of the players and siblings choose pizza. The coaches give final notes and confirm everyone knows where the next practice is, and it is soon time to leave for dinner. Happy and excited that I have experienced my first hockey game, I give my brother a hug and say “good job, brother.” My brother is excited as well, since he has experienced playing his first hockey game and has done so well.

The next twelve years consisted of walking in and out of hockey rinks, cheering, whistling and celebrating. My brother is now sixteen and has been drafted to the Ontario Junior A Hockey League, which is one step below National Hockey League (NHL). The games now become two and a half hours long, making it a much more exciting and thrilling experience. Many of the games are now in different cities, making it a full day trip. The team players and coaches have their own bus, which I must say is very high class. Each seat on the bus has a TV on the back of the seat in front of them, and wireless internet so the boys can all stay connected with Facebook and Twitter. The family bus is not quite as nice as the team bus. We only have three T.V`s throughout the bus and all have to watch the same movie, which is m usually not too bad.

After hours of driving across Ontario, we reach the rink; each rink looks the same, with two small differences. One of these differences is the city and the color of the opposing team, obviously different each game. The arena can seat one thousand people, which is quite a bit more than the arenas I have been too in the beginning of his hockey career. Large TV screens hang from the ceiling and the padded seats are elevated so the people who like to move their heads every three seconds can see the game. Loud music begins playing and fans begin to take their seats. Four referees enter the ice and skate laps around the rink as the players begin to get ready for the big game. The lights soon go off and people stand in their seats to welcome the home team, and the visiting team to the rink. A red carpet is rolled out and a singer comes out and begins singing “O Canada” loud and proud. The crowd all sings and cheers as the song finishes. Upon the ending of the last verse of the song, an announcer comes on to address each team with confidence. Each player’s name is addressed as they come forward and give a wave to the crowd. When it is our teams turn to be recognized the crowd all stands and cheers and our loved ones are called out as being a part of The Kingston Voyagers. The lights come back on and the players take position. It is now game time.

I am now eighteen and I pack up my car and begin my travels with my parents to Potsdam New York. I have no idea of what to expect and immediately begin feeling nervous and scared. After all, I am moving to a country that is different than my own, and in a city, which I have no recognition of at all. While touring the campus, I begin to realize maybe this is not such a big community and I can fit in here. We enter into Maxcy Hall where we see the hockey arena. I remember saying to my parents “oh thank god, I know I am going to like it here. They have a hockey team and I`m sure the guys are cute”. Knowing far well that they must be, as most hockey players are seen as being cute, I mean take Sidney Crosby for example. With that thought aside my parents and I take a seat on the hard wooden seats and I immediately flash back to the first hockey game I attended when I was six. The only difference was that I was older and was not holding my mom`s hand, but I was freezing and the benches are still very hard. Sounds of my life begin getting louder and louder. Each player is banging their stick against the boards, waiting for a pass and referees are blowing their whistles, these referees were coaches in this case, but similar. The tour of Maxcy hall continues and as we are walking up the stairs back to the parking lot, six people from my hometown come up and give me the biggest hug anyone could handle. I was completely shocked to see these old friends. When we were in high school, they all played hockey with my brother before they came to Potsdam to play hockey and study. Now finally feeling comfortable after a few tears, my parents leave and I am on my own. Not feeling so much out of place anymore, I realize I am in my new home away from home. The new chapter of my life was beginning, whether I wanted it too or not.

Weeks have gone by and nine of my Canadian friends and I are sitting in the Maxcy Hall ice rink waiting for the Bears first game to begin. Voices get louder and louder as fans pile in and decide where the best place to sit is and begin reading the roster to see whom they should cheer for. We decide to do the same; seventeen out of twenty players were from Canada. This was no surprise to us, as we know that most hockey players are from Canada, or so the tabloids and stereotypes prove. As soon as we could start discussing how this was very exciting to have so many people from our country playing for such a great school, the lights went off. ‘Fire Burning’ begins playing and the Potsdam bears are announced to come onto the ice. Introductions of both teams end and that familiar sound of a whistle rings in my ears. It was time for the game to begin.

Three twenty minute periods, with two ten minute intermissions comes quickly to an end, faster than we imagined. I begin to feel more at home than ever as the Potsdam Bears exit the ice after a big win over SUNY Plattsburg. Attending this game alone, without my parents in tow, I realize that it is not such a big step being away from home; but that I am living my life as I would if I was in Canada. Potsdam has become my new community, and that is because of the strong connection between Canadians and hockey. No matter what situation I am experiencing in life, I will always resort to hockey and remember that first day I first experienced this sport with my family. SUNY Potsdam is my community away from home, and it too brings me home every time I walk into Maxcy Hall arena and that whistle blows and pucks begin hitting the boards. In my future, I see myself spending many weekends and evenings at the hockey arena with my children. Hockey will always remain a part of my life and my community, no matter where that might be.

Chinatown, Manhattan. That’s pretty much where I grew up. It’s bombarded with all types of people. The elderly people who love to take their morning strolls and stretch their aged bodies on the monkey bars in Columbus Park. The women and men of varying ages elongating their lives through practicing tai-chi in the basketball courts. The wide-eyed tourist, amazed from all the culture they’re absorbing through their eyes, bargaining for a cheaper price on the fake Gucci bags and the Prada sunglasses, all while exploring the new flavors of authentic Asian foods laid on their taste buds. Then, when three p.m. strikes, young children run to the school gates where clusters of grandparents anxiously await for their release. The streets are filled with noise: the honking of speeding yellow taxi cabs, kids playing tag, the elderly gossiping about how smart their grandchildren are, the clicking of Chinese chess pieces hitting against each other, the ringing of domino pieces being stacked together, the music of the old men playing their Chinese violins while humming the lyrics of their youth, and many other sounds that add to the experience of Chinatown.

Examples of various designs of red envelopes

Chinatown is packed with different restaurants filled with all various kinds of delectable foods. Streets bordered by store after store of gift shops. There’s at least two banks on every block, and every street has its own smell, some more pleasant than others. No matter how diverse this community can become all its members and the members of neighboring boroughs come together on several days throughout the year to celebrate and participate in the festivities of Chinese New Year.

Gung Hay Fat Choy! It translates to Happy New Year. Chinese New Year, or sometimes called Lunar New Year, because it follows the lunar calendar, is a very special celebration in the Chinatown community. In China, all fifteen days of this holiday are celebrated. It is a time of festivities, new beginnings and delicious foods. It is a celebration everyone young and old looks forward to. It is a time of bringing family together to wish one another longevity, prosperity, good health, and everything else good. The most common and formal way to wish one a happy new year, is to offer a red envelope. A red envelope, or hong bao or lai see, depending on which dialect is spoken, is simply a red envelope that contains money. The envelopes are traditionally decorated with Chinese characters representing wealth or health printed in gold. Each year is assigned a Chinese zodiac animal, so the red envelopes are sometimes decorated with either an artistic piece of the animal printed in gold or in a cartoon version. Other variations of the red envelopes include cartoon characters and of Confucius. Red envelopes are not only given on Chinese New Year but for many other holidays and events as well, such as: birthdays, weddings, going away, good luck, be safe, and many others. Every family celebrates in a different way, with some general rules.

In my family, we start preparing about a month before New Year’s Day. We all go out to the mall to shop for a new outfit from head to toe to start off the new year. As we shop, we’re encouraged to keep a simple rule in mind; your outfit must contain some portion of red. Red is a lucky color to the Chinese. It is a color that resembles good luck, good fortune, and good health. After we get our outfits, we proceed to prepare ourselves more by making a trip to the salon to get our hair cut. After we are done preparing ourselves for this big event, we start our spring cleaning early. We have to wash our laundry, vacuum the carpet, mop every square inch of the house, clean the bathrooms, and many other tedious tasks until the house is sparkling clean, or at least close to it. When all this has been completed, we are asked to help start prepare for the event. We are asked to fold these colorful thin pieces of paper that are to be burned for the dead and to our Gods. These papers resemble the festivities of Chinese New Year, thus the colorfulness of them. They’re burned for the dead and to our Gods so they can celebrate in their heavens as well, and in a sense to welcome them to join us in our festivities. Lastly, all that is left, is to go shopping for the foods that we are to prepare for the next several days. Chicken is a very essential dish that is prepared for Chinese New Year. Chicken represents wealth because in the olden days, only the wealthy were able to afford this “luxury.”

On New Year’s Eve, we begin the ceremony. After all plates of food have been cooked, we bring the plates upstairs to the second floor of my house carefully one at a time to where we can offer our Gods and our passed loved ones the joys and thankfulness of a new year. With the plates of food, rice, and wine placed before the Gods’ statue, we burn the colored papers that also represent fortune and happiness to them. After the burning ceremony, we bring the food back downstairs where we then feast on the foods. We must sit down as a family to enjoy the meal. If a member of the family is unable to join the rest of the family in celebration, a spot on the table is reserved for them. The table is prepared by laying a set of chopsticks in between the plates, as a representation for each member of the family.

On New Year’s day, we all have to wake up early so that we can prepare brunch. The table is set up in the same manner as New Year’s eve, with the difference of the foods that are prepared. For the first meal of Chinese New Year, we are forbidden to have any type of meat. All the plates that we prepare are vegan. During this meal, everyone at the table must partake in having a taste of liquor or Tsingtao, a Chinese beer, which represents longevity. After we feast on this meal, we all head out to Chinatown, Manhattan to join in on the festivities of the New Year. We all gather around to wherever the dragon and lion dances are. Once you arrive, there’s no need to fear not knowing where to go, you won’t miss it, you really can’t.

We watch the dances and the performances all day long. The colorful colors of the dragons, the confetti that fill the skies, and of course all the people there to support the event. Eventually after standing in enormous crowds throughout the day, we finally make our way to my grandmother’s apartment, where we pay our respects to her and to see my father’s brother and his family. We sit and chatter and exchange red envelopes for a healthy amount of time. We stay until it is time for us to drive back to our house to start preparing for dinner, another big meal. For this meal, it is vital to have chicken, it is the main dish and everyone must have a piece.

Chinese New Year is a very big and special event. It is held in many areas across the United States and in many other areas where there are big Asian communities, usually in the Chinatowns of the area. In Chinatown, Manhattan, in New York City, the festivities don’t just end after one day, they continue on for the next fifteen days, typically on the preceding weekends. Although we may not celebrate as heavily as they do in China and Hong Kong, I would say, we do a pretty good job here in the States. If you miss the big dragon dance performance on New Year’s day itself, don’t fret, there are many more to come within the following two weeks.

Mott Street, Chinatown, Manhattan, New York. February 3, 2011

Although the Chinese New Year tradition still lives on, it has slowly began to diminish in my family. While we have celebrated Chinese New Year in my family, my parents are not as traditional as some people in my neighborhood. When my grandparents were still alive, my parents didn’t pay much mind to preparing for the event nor did they follow closely to the more proper traditional way to pay respect to the dead and to our Gods because they were too busy being involved in running their business.

My family’s tradition of traveling to Chinatown, Manhattan halted when my second sister left for college. Since I’ve been away from home for three years and counting, I have not been able to celebrate and be a part of the festivities. I’m not even sure of what happens at home when Chinese New Year arrives. While Chinese New Year is still important to me, I do not celebrate it as much as I celebrate the New Year on January 1st.

Coming from a family of three girls, my second sister and I have branched away from participating in the traditions of the Chinese. We slowly drifted away from even considering keeping many of the traditions we experienced as children. We have fallen victim to melting into America’s melting pot. Although we may not do everything how typical Americans do things, we are classified as being Americanized. To many typical Americans, we may have to sense of becoming more and more Americanized but still carry some mannerisms of the Chinese.

The eldest child in my family follows extremely close to Chinese tradition. She typically is the one to prepare the house and the foods for many of the Chinese holidays. She even seems to be more traditional than my parents are. My parents have a difficult time grasping the idea of my second sister and me moving away from the family and the traditions. We may have taken part and experienced some of the Chinese traditions but it was never really enforced upon us as we were growing up. Growing up and being able to experience independent living and exposing myself to the world, I can now clearly see that my parents have exceedingly sheltered me. As we grow older and they see that my second sister and I are branching away, they have become more and more traditional, trying their best to enforce tradition on us with the last bit of chances they get.

I don’t follow closely, or at all, to Chinese traditions or to family traditions because I don’t agree with many of the ways they do things or how they think. I have a different mindset from what they want me to believe and do. I do admit that I do carry some mannerisms of the Chinese.