Saturday, July 25, 2009

I took my son to see the Stanley Cup yesterday. It was visiting a town near us. He was over-the-moon-excited about seeing it. He kept saying "I may touch the cup that all the greats have touched -- Rocket Richard, Wayne Gretzky, Mario Lemieux, Mark Messier, Sydney Crosby...." I was proud that he recognized the historical significance, not just the recent Penguins victory. I could literally feel the energy buzzing off him when they brought it into the room.

The thing about DS is that he truly, truly LOVES hockey. He loves playing, watching, researching stats, the history, all of it. He tells me his favourite place in the world is the arena (sad, 'cause as his mom I'd rather he said "home with you."). Every hockey season I pray that whatever coach or team he has recognizes this passion and doesn't do anything to dampen it. Every year we've been lucky. Come April he is still as enthused about the game as he is in September. It's inspiring, really. There is something magical about seeing someone you love, find and celebrate the thing they love. It's a privilege to be part of that (and I tell myself that often while sitting in another cold arena on another early Saturday morning.)

In Dr. Baylis's Rough Guide to Happiness he argues that "...the very nature of our passions is that they are never mastered, never domesticated, never channelled and always wild. Perhaps passions would not be passions if they were under our control; they would be skills." I'm not sure I agree because I'm not sure passions can be defined; what makes each person's heart sing is so different. Could you say that because Wayne Gretzky is a hockey master that hockey can no longer be his passion? I doubt it. Sometimes I think the pursuit of the passion is part of the attraction, but I don't think that is the end. I look at DS's passion about hockey and I think that it's just a calling to his intellect and heart simultaneously that fuel his energy for the game. Lucky him. Lucky me.

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