Jack and I were in Dick’s Sporting Goods looking for fun a few weeks ago. After we tried our hand at the Biggest Bertha golf drivers on the miniature range, we bounded to the hockey section. Between the Susan G. Komen Pink Lacrosse accessories and the survival aisle (hand warmers, beef jerky and weaponry), we tested out the sticks with a street hockey ball. Definitely something I recommend. The store was empty and the carpet, indestructible. It was awesome.
Public Frolicking is nothing new to my son and me. When crowds in the store permit, we play the LeBron James Grocery Game whereby Jack tries to launch an item into my basket as I fast break down the aisle. I assign Jack a grocery selection which he finds. If I hear Jack’s announcer / crowd voice and know that there’s something incoming. It makes the whole experience more fun. So, hungry for fun and my try before you buy attitude, we shot away.
Minutes later, an employee who heard our cackling commotion and assumed Jack was an unaccompanied minor came out of nowhere to ask him to put the stick down. When I emerged from fetching the ball in my skirt and hockey stick, the startled employee said, “Oh. I didn’t know an adult was with him. Uh, go right ahead. Hey, that’s cool. Eh-huh-huh.” That was my exit cue.
When we arrived home, Jack found simple street hockey far too pedestrian. Always the innovator, he had to take it up a notch: street hockey played while skating on a Rip Stick. Rip Sticks are aerodynamic skate boards with only two wheels located in the board’s center. They are engineered to make you fall off in one rapidly awkward movement, much like surfing on a marble.
New concept firmly in mind, my son needed a name to rally around. A brainstorm led him to the moniker, “Shockey.” Needing something to aim for, we painted 2 plywood goals. We outlined the large logo box (no use inventing a future Olympic sport without a logo) with a darker black zone. I moved the trampoline to enlarge the Shockey Court on the driveway and Jack let it rip.
After an hour it was time for the Shockey Jockey to go to his friend’s Daniel’s house. Asking for one last shot, I agreed and unfortunately stuck around to watch, directly behind him. Jack took a back swing, neither one of us realizing my proximity to him. He followed through like his eternal fate hinged on making the goal and struck me squarely on my chin. I clutched my face, which was now squirting like a Julia Childs’ Saturday Night Live sketch, and stumbled into the house. I then grabbed a towel and tried to alert John that we were on the way.
My plan was to drop Jack at the church with his Dad so that he didn’t have to wait with me as the doctors reattached my chin flap. When John came out of church and saw my splayed-open Shockey-face, he blurted out, “You can’t drive yourself!” closed up church and chauffeured us to the Quickie-Care.
Once inside, John checked me in and attempted to explain my accident. Ever-sympathetic, he asked the nurses to make sure not to leave the hockey puck in there. Sweet guy. After a wait, I went back to get my chin super glued back together. The Dr. told me that in 6 months or so, I should not have much of a recognizable scar.
After the mishap, several friends asked if I was going to see a plastic surgeon. I found this very funny. As much as I’m sure a doctor would love to perform an extreme makeover upon me, I have to pass. Just like my Crisco-sunscreen wrinkles and deep laugh lines, my rugged chin is evidence of life played hard with exuberance and great enjoyment.
And, anyway, I needed a little something from my son to match my left eye scar: a gift from Maggie Lee and her tennis racket. These are my most beautiful features of all.