Hockey gear is a million little pieces of funk filled pieces of leather, Velcro and some special composite material that traps and exponentially amplifies the stench all piled into bags that become hostage to the smell. The black on black motif of most hockey gear makes it easier to misplace or mistakenly think everything is accounted for when in truth one item is missing.
They Normally Come in Pairs
Precisely twelve minutes until game time I was confronted with a panicked Bantam holding a lone glove. Even being a newer hockey mom, I knew that they came in a set and this was the WRONG time to only be holding one.
“Mom, I can’t find my other glove. I needit.” Really kiddo? I already figured that part out. (My inner snark tends to come flowing out unchecked in moments like this) I was already onto the next steps:
Where did you check? (Everywhere) Well obviously not everywhere, because you have only looked where the damn thing isn’t or we wouldn’t be having this conversation with the clock ticking away precious seconds.
Are you sure it’s not in the bag? (Yes, I’m sure) Knowing her “looking for something” observation skills, I took that with a grain of salt and worthy of a recheck.
When did you last have it? (At the game last night) So we are talking about a 12-hour window where this one item up and walked away. In fairness given what might be growing in that thing, I wasn’t ruling out that it took off of its own volition.
Racing the Clock
I ran to the car to check the back since she couldn’t trot out to the parking lot with her skates. I knew immediately it wasn’t there – the car was devoid of the suffocating rankness that even a single hockey item brings. I could breathe opening the door, so no dice.
Seven minutes left. The front desk didn’t see any, it wasn’t where I dropped her off before going to park. I was out of options. I took a deep breath and grabbed my wallet, the only solution left. As my bantam watched her two younger brothers I trudged to the pro shop; in truth I sprinted, but my brain was languishing behind on principal.
With 3 minutes to spare and a giant eye roll for effect, I handed my daughter a new pair of gloves (albeit last season’s model – the horror, I know) and sent her on her way. I snapped a quick picture and kept the one sad, lonely glove, stink and all, as a reminder for my child to take better care of her equipment and as a threat that I will make her wear it as a necklace the next time she loses something.
