Being a parent is an incredible experience, full of joyous moments. At times however, there are moments of fear and agony. It's a package deal. Recently - I experienced both, almost simultaneously. You see my son was having a weekend of unfathomable success on the hockey rink (proud dad says boastfully ;). Over the course of four games, he had 13 goals, including one game with 7 - in just two periods - as he was forced to not shoot in the third period! For the record, I'm told that Gretzky's best game was 6 goals, in three periods. But whose counting.
Now during his final game, I took my daughter to get her a blue slushy. You see, that's the best part of her having to freeze, while incredibly bored watching her big brother (who she adores, but doesn't know it yet) push a stupid puck, with other stupid boys, around a stupid ice rink. She plays soccer; that's her thing - and she's really good at it.
To make a long story short, while I was at the concession stand, giggling with my daughter - my son scored when I wasn't looking, and crashed into the boards afterwords, again, when I wasn't looking. By the time I turned around to see what was going on - I saw my son crumpled up on the far end of the ice, grimacing, whipping off his helmet, and neck guard, and then trying to stand up - only to crash back morbidly to the ice. Oh my God! - I said to myself. Then I proceeded instantaneously to think horrible thoughts. After all, I never saw what happened, so my mind went where a parents' mind goes: to the worst possible scenario. In my mind, I envisioned that my son had crashed head-first into the boards and had broken his neck, and might be paralyzed. Its true: my mind raced to the worst conclusion possible, and I freaked out. I lost it. Boy did I ever.
Within seconds, I ran out of the noisy concession area, and through the doors to the rink. Then it got even worse. Because the silence was deafening! - which made me think the fans where also petrified at what might have happened to my son. Everyone was totally quite; totally still. Even the other players were all on the ice, taking a knee: silently and solemnly. I ran faster - my heart pounding and aching; my stomach in knots, and my eyes starting to well-up with tears. I was scared more than I have ever been scared as a parent in my life so far (and I've had scary moments before). The agony was excruciating.
Thankfully, one of the dads from our team caught me on my rampage, and told me that he just got the wind knocked out of him, which meant that he did not hit the boards head-first, but probably crashed into them backwards (that happens in hockey). With a temporary shot of relief, and a dose of new found calm - I finally got close enough to my son to see that indeed he was hurt, but his limbs were working, and it really was a bad case of getting the wind knocked out of him, in a big-time way.
When my son finally got to his feet; the players smacking their sticks on the ice in appreciation, and the crowd cheering at his recovery (and his goal - I hope ;) - my agony went back to joy. All was okay: although my son was very scared, as that type of hit, and getting the wind knocked out of him like that, had never happened to him before. I guess it turned out that our joy, agony, and our fear, was shared by both of us, at the same time.
Now given the choice, I'll undoubtedly take (and pray for) the joy, over the agony and fear. But you know what? The occasional bad stuff, which will inevitably happen - makes me appreciate the good stuff, all that much more. As the saying goes: no rain - no rainbow.
Rainbows are Good.
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