Chapter 25: Prep Ho-Go East Young Man

Prep Ho!

Leaves starting to turn in New Hampshire

I should say that the rationale for considering and then sending our son off to prep school in New Hampshire involved more consideration than just the hockey opportunity.  Yes that was the main driver. We were not happy with his local public school.  While attending one of the better schools in San Diego, he was still jammed into classrooms with 35+ other students and was falling through the cracks.  We felt the smaller classes and academic environment of a boarding school would benefit our son.  We also weighed the cost of going to Los Angeles to play AAA hockey and determined that even with the hefty tuition for prep school, it wasn't really that much more than what some families were spending for the hockey and all the travel associated with Tier 1 midget hockey.

So we made the calculation between the hockey opportunity plus the social and academic benefits and decided that he would take the prep school route.  The global economy and my net worth were both teetering on the edge of an unforeseen cliff.  Had I known what was about to transpire I would have to seriously rethink having committed to this course.  That's a different story.

I remember when my son was very young hearing about Wayne Gretzky leaving home at the age of 14.  My wife and I couldn't imagine sending our little boy off to live with strangers at such a young age.  Now at the age of 17 I had no qualms.  I was excited for him and the opportunity that waited. 

My wife and Max flew off to New England.  After thinking about it for such a long time my kid was officially a preppy. And I was officially in debt.  My wife, who had been a stay at home mom for much of the past seventeen years decided to find a way to help pay the freight for this new venture.  She looked for a business idea. That little idea has grown now into an amazing business she started in the middle of the Great Recession. 

Doug with Sidney

I don't recall much of the details of his send off in the Fall of 2008. I was in the midst of dealing with the collapse of Bear Sterns that week.  I called Max today to see if he had any memories that stood out about that trip.  At first he said no but then he remembered. I had booked the flight for him and my wife on Priceline.  Apparently I didn't pay very close attention to the details. As it turned out their flight to Boston went by way of Orlando.   What should have taken 5 hours took closer to 12. Oops, my bad.  They were not happy with me over that one.  

Doug's Lake House

I have a close friend from West Haven High School. His name is Doug Hentz.  Doug lives up in Meredith, NH on Lake Winnipesaukee.  Doug and his family would become Max's local surrogate parents. Meredith, NH is about a half hour away from Tilton.  Max would stay with the Hentzes from time to time and I stayed with them during my many visits over the next couple of years.  They were lifesavers. 

This time Kyle and Max stayed with them for a day or two before Kyle dropped Max off to start school. I'm sure it was an emotional farewell, but I have no details of the event. 

For the next few months I would need to get my hockey fix from our local tier 3 junior team. My friend and Max's previous coach, Bruce Miller made a couple of investments.  He bought both the pro shop at the Escondido Iceoplex as well as the junior team.  Both were purchased from MF Schurman.  In fact, I was part of the investment group that bought the pro shop. 

There were three of us; Bruce, me and Pierre Dufour, that took over the skate shop.  Bruce has a background and a great eye for retail and display.  The next month involved 70 hour weeks remodeling the store. I put in approximately zero of those hours, as I had my full time job at UBS.  

After a month Bruce and Pierre bought me out of my interest.  I got a great return on my investment as well as free skate sharpening and hockey gear at cost. I learned to sharpen skates and I'm sure I saved a ton of money over the next few years.   So I was out of the retail business after barely a month.  By the way, Bruce recently sold the store and my little deal was left out of the equation.  Bummer. 

Back to my hockey fix.  So Max was gone.  Bruce now owned the junior team.  He changed the name from the Surf to the Gulls.  It was a bit of a coup for him to have the rights to that name since it had been controlled by the ECHL minor pro team up until they recently folded.  

AJ Grabowski-Our Billet playing Thursday night pickup
with a borrowed bucket

I stayed involved.  A lot of the kids I'd coached and Max played with were skipping U18 midget and going right to the junior team.  Bruce asked me to handle the video for the team.  So I did that.  And I continued to be a billet house.  We took in two kids.  AJ from Rochester and PJ from Billerica, outside of Boston.  PJ didn't last long. But he owned a car.  AJ lasted all season.  He had to rely on team mates to give him rides to the rink after PJ left. 

Besides doing the Gulls video I was continuing to referee adult league games.  I made plans for the first of six trips this season to visit Max and watch him play. The first trip back was for a Columbus Day tournament.  It would be with the NH Monarchs U18 AAA team during the split travel season prior to the start of the prep season.  

I'll pick up with this trip in the next chapter. 

Chapter 24: Don't Shoot the Messenger

Like most hockey leagues and communities, Southern California hockey boasts an active Internet message board, SoCal-hockey.com. 

I was fairly active and it seemed everyone knew of Cosmo, my screen name.  Yeah, I'm a huge Seinfeld fan.

Many, if not most discussions were quite contentious.  There was an awful lot of chirping, criticizing and name calling.  I did my best to avoid those types of battles.  Some the rivalries were epic.  People were happy to be anonymous and hide behind their screen names.  There was one persona who seemed to know everything about everyone. It was uncanny.   Everyone was sure they knew who it was.  They were certain it was Joe Francis.  Joe was a dad and sometimes coach.  I think he may have originated the board to begin with.  This all-knowing, all seeing person went by the screen name of TinMan.  I was friends with Joe. I know it wasn't him.  After a few years I started getting messages from TinMan...we spoke on the phone a couple of times...I never got her name, but she was definitely not Joe.  

I was the recipient of one such classic encounter....someone attacked me, accusing me of viewing my kid through rose-colored glasses.  Ok.  Whatever. I had no idea who would be attacking me nor why. 

 There was a kid who used to play in the same group with Max.  Apparently he didn't make a couple of the teams that Max made and he held it against him.  I had no idea but his dad was pretty bitter about it.  So I got this public rant from an anonymous poster slamming me.  It was surprising to realize I had that affect on someone.  Over time, the mystery was solved when a mutual friend pointed out to me who it was.  When I called him on it I received an explanatory rebuttal as a post on  the website claiming that it was from the kid and that he admitted to writing the initial post.  The thing was that twelve year old kids don't use terms like "rose-colored glasses" and other similar adult language, and in the rebuttal, there were multiple misspellings which made it pretty obvious the writer was trying to make it look like he was young.  In other words, Dad was the culprit and threw his kid under the bus.  What a beaut.

Oh yeah.  There was a reason I brought up the message board.  That spring after we took the prep school tour I saw a announcement on the socal board from a coach named Ryan Kravetz.  He was advertising tryouts to take a team to Boston for the "pre-draft" tournament and the Chowder Cup.  The team had a pretty embarassing name...it was the California Cool Catz.  The tryouts were held up in North Los Angeles, Panarama City.  The West Valley Wolves played out of this rink.  The Wolves and Gulls were bitter rivals for the past couple of years.   I didn't know at the time what the Chowder Cup was.  As it turns out, there are a series of showcase tournaments in and around the Boston area.  The Chowder Cup is one of those.   It started in 1991 and has hosted thousands of teams and many more players.  They hold tournaments at many levels from youth to adult.   Max would be trying out for the team that would play in the "Pre-Draft" Tournament and then the Chowder Cup in July.   

We learned after driving up to Panarama City at 7am on a Saturday morning that the team he was trying out for would be selected for the pre-draft team.  After that tournament in May some players would be invited to play on the "Junior Elite" team and others on the "College Open" team in the Chowder Cup in July.  The Junior Elite would include the bigger, better and stronger players.  The College open was for the younger kids.

At the tryout, Max looked ok.  I couldn't tell what the coaches were thinking.  I hung out with some rival Wolves dads who I'd met over the years.  The coach, Ryan Kravetz, really didn't say much to Max and nothing to me.  We walked out after the tryout figuring he didn't make the team.

A few days later I got an email from the coach inviting Max to be on the team.  We were both thrilled.  Who knew.  

So that was that.  Max made the team.  We took a couple of trips up to Panarama City for team practices and we headed off for Boston(actually Quincy and Foxboro) in May.  What happened next  probably doesn't seem like much of a big deal, but it was the turning point for Max.  It was a clear line of demarcation where he showed up and became an impact player.  The team did ok.  I forget the outcome of the games.  The "Cool Catz"(I can barely say it with a straight face) played in four, maybe five games in total.  One or two were exhibition games the coach set up.  They did not qualify for the tournament playoffs.  They won a couple of games...one of the games they won was against a stacked prep school team.  I remember because a San Diego kid who moved to Connecticut played for them.  His name was Stefan Demopoulos.  Stefan was a year older than Max.  He played for the Jaguars when he lived in San Diego.  After moving east, he attended and played for Avon Old Farms and is now going into his junior year and playing at Providence College.    We also played against Jimmy and Kevin Hayes.  Jimmy was a second round Toronto Maple Leafs draft pick at the time.  Kevin was in high school but is now at Boston College and was a 1st round pick by the Blackhawks.

Max had a standout showing at the showcase.  Looked really good against the stacked prep team.   Here is the scouting report from the showcase:

Balaban was one of the best 91 born players at Chowder Cup (Pre-Draft) and made ISS top 10 list for 91 born players at this event. Played both PP/PK units and did a very good job. Has a good work ethic and high hockey IQ. Has his head up and showed good puck control. Has good offensive instincts, protects the puck well and has the ability to slow the game down. A bit light on his skates and will need to bulk up in order not to get pushed around. Good skater with deceptive speed and agility. Handles the puck well and has a good transition game. Will need to learn to shoot more, will try to pass when opportunity to shoot is there.

Recommendations:

Has potential to reach next level and contribute. He will need to improve his strength and defensive commitment to reach that level.

I was pretty happy with this report. 

Pat Norton, the Tilton coach, got up very early to make the two hour trip down from New Hampshire to watch Max play in an 8am game.  He was not disappointed.   I was impressed he made the trek. Max had already applied and been accepted to Tilton so it was nice to get the re confirmation that the coach saw his potential. 

We ran into the coach, Ryan Kravetz, at the hotel after the tourney was over.  He pulled us aside and had a word with Us.  He told us that Max was the last player he picked for the team, but he was so impressed with his play that he is the first person he wanted to invite to play on the Junior Elite squad for the Chowder Cup.   

Fast forward to the Chowder Cup in July. We are planning in heading back to Boston.  I get a call from Ryan telling me he's over-recruited a team of WHL and NAHL juniors and he thinks Max should maybe play for the younger college open team.  That was disappointing.  After some discussion Max ended up playing in every game for both teams. 

When it was all said and done Max came away with a huge boost in confidence.  He'd faced NHL prospects, D1 recruits and major junior players and not only held his own, he stood out, had fun and got noticed. And he really hadn't yet begun to grow. My rose colored glasses were working just fine, thank you very much.  

On to prep school at Tilton in the fall. 

Chapter 23: Who Loves Ya!

In hockey, it's always about what's next.  Not so much once you reach the elite rarefied beer leagues.  But all along the way, whether it's peewees, junior, college or the pros, there is always the next level.  There is always someone better than you.  You are always in the process of proving yourself. 

Nothing had happened with the notion of my son going to prep school, other than the steady stream of brochures that were still coming in the mail from the pre-prep showcase he did three or four years earlier. 

There was a kid, Tyler Lindley, who was a pretty talented hockey player from San Diego.  He attended the Northwood School in lake Placid. Another San Diegan, Ryan Purdy attended Phillips Exeter in New Hampshire.  Ryan was a goalie who went on to have a solid career at Williams.  

By now I was coaching and Max was playing second year midget U16. Four times a season all the California teams would meet up for a CAHA weekend.  These were important games to determine rankings and playoffs.  We were about to play the junior Ducks in Valencia, CA.  

Just before the game I bumped into a couple of scouts. Well, a scout and his brother. Pat Norton was the head coach at Tilton School in Tilton, NH. His brother, I'm not sure if it was Brendan or Ryan, lived in the area. This one had gone to Uconn but I can't locate him in hockeydb.com. 

Pat had been a role player at UNH and then went in to be the assistant coach when Norwich won a D3 national title.  A few years earlier His brother had bumped into some talented youth players playing summer senior leagues with their dads the same way that Max and I skated together.  He was impressed with their skill level and suggested Pat come check them out. 

Ever since then Pat makes a couple of recruiting trips a year to look for "under the radar" talent.  

Bruce and I had a nice chat with Pat and his brother, then proceeded to go out and beat up on the Ducks. Max played well. Here's a nice sequence of a goal he scored.

After the game Pat came down to the locker room with a list of players he liked.  Those boys were called out into the hallway to hear his spiel.  

Prep school is a foreign notion to most  SoCal hockey players.  At least it was at that time. More and more players are finding their way and choosing that route. 

Max was among the boys Pat noticed.  We spent some time talking to him and  let him know that we were very interested.  

That set off a series of events that ended up with Max shipping off to Tilton the following autumn. 

First was the prep school tour. Max and I took a red-eye to Boston.  I believe it was late February or early March.  We planned on visiting three schools including Tilton.  First stop-Governors Academy in Byfield, Mass.  Governors used to be known as Governor Dummers. They must have taken quite a bit of ribbing over that. But they recently dropped Dummers from the name.  

Governors had a great campus with a brand new rink.   We met the coach, got a tour from a player and left.  I think our only connection with the school was Bruce Marshall, Uconn's head coach. He put me in touch with the hockey coach at Governors and we scheduled the interview and tour.  I could tell the coach wasn't very impressed with Max.  He'd never seen him play and only saw what was there in front of him, a scrawny 16 year old late bloomer who had yet to bloom. 

We left.  Headed up to highway 93 and on to Tilton.  There was snow on the ground and the closer we got to Tilton the deeper it was.  Hockey season was over. Pat Norton was also the school's golf coach.  He was forced to drive with the golf team for a couple of hours south in order to practice.  

We pulled into the small town of Tilton.  It was a quaint little New England hamlet.  Old buildings, churches and a diner.   One street light.   A Pizza place and a Veterans Home.  We turned up the hill on School Street and pulled in front of the admissions building and visitors center.  

The Church at the Tilton School

Pat Norton met us in his office, spoke enthusiastically about the school and expressed sincere interest in Max.  The same scrawny kid who was barely given the time of day a few hours earlier by the Dummer coach.  

A girl from the women's hockey team gave us the campus tour.  Max and I were both excited and impressed by the experience.  We let the coach know about the other schools we were visiting and that Max would be submitting his application to Tilton. 

Boston Univeristy vs. Umass-Amherst 2008

On the road again, we headed south to Boston where we caught a game between BU and Umass-Amherst.  BU won.

The next morning we headed to Uconn where we met with Coach Marshall.  We got a campus tour from an injured defenseman from Minnesota.  Uconn had no Connecticut residents on their roster.   After walking all over campus for the tour I had to get back to the rink to play in the Alumni game.  

Uconn Men's Hockey Locker Room

My legs were exhausted from the walk.  I was late. I had to run out to the parking lot and find my car. Then I rifled through all the stuff in the trunk to pull out my skates and hockey gear.  I was traveling light so I didn't bring everything.  Bruce Marshall was loaning me pants, socks and a few other items.   I stole the blue jersey I'm wearing in the picture. I'm on the left. I was having trouble getting everything together. I was at the rink at Uconn. My legs were wobbling. I was sweating. This was my damned nightmare happening while I was awake. 

Except I did manage to get on the ice, unlike in my dream. 

Center, In Dark...feeling the pain

Me on the left with Steve "Swanny" Swanson and Scott Inman, Class of 1977

It didn't get much better when the game started.   The thing I clearly recall was how many times younger alumni would catch me breaking out of my zone from behind.  I had my pocket picked like that nearly every time I got ahold of the puck. 

I remember looking up on the stands to see Max watching me struggle.  I wanted to say, "but, but..I used to be better than this. Really!"   He knew. 

Pepe's Pizza-New Haven, CT

After the visit to Uconn I headed back to my childhood home in West Haven to visit my parents.  I did my standard tour: visited Whitey Bensen's, stopped by the Bennett Rink at the High School, went to Savin Rock for fried whole belly clams and lobster rolls at Jimmy's or Phyllis's.  By the way, Phylis, of Phyllis's was my high school and hockey team mate, Frank Longobardi's mother.  She died when he was a young boy.   We may have also hit up Pepe's or Zuppardi's for some great New Haven pizza. 

The next morning we took the long drive up to Lake Placid to visit Northwood.  Again, our connection there was our friend Tyler Lindley. Tyler  was a five year student there.  He was just finishing up his final semester and headed to Skidmore the following fall. 

Tyler set up the introduction to the Northwood coach.  Max was getting the same lack of interest here that he received at Governors.   Again, he was a pretty scrawny kid at the time.  Neither of these coaches had seen him skate or play so you can't really blame them.  

This would set off a theme that would determine his path for the next few years.  That would be to go where you are wanted.  This principle seemed to work pretty well until this past year, when it didn't.  I'll explain that one later. 

Max at Herb Brooks Arena in Lake Placid

We both really liked Northwood. It was a great environment, right there in Lake Placid, home of the 1980 Miracle Olympics.  It's about a hour drive through winding mountain roads just to get to the highway.  Road trips would be a drag.  Also, my friends with New England prep school ties poo-pooed Northwood since they were independent and therefore did not play in any league so there was nothing to play for.  Or so they said.  Northwood was more known as a hockey factory similar to Shattuck St. Mary's in Minnesota or Culver Academy.  

No matter.  They weren't interested in Max.  He would go where he was wanted.  I got great pleasure in watching Max be an important part of Tilton beating both Dummy's and Northwood the next season. 

I found out a few days after we left  that my sister's father in law had been the head master at Northwood a few years earlier. 

Next up-breaking out at the Pre-draft/Chowder Cup in Boston. 

Chapter 22: The Wheels On The Bus...Are Falling Off

As my surgeries mounted, my skills eroded.  There were one or two lumbar surgeries where I was back on the ice after only a week.  It got harder and harder. It was difficult bending over to tie my skates. On the ice it took longer and longer for my body to react.  It was frustrating to be frustrating to my teammates.   

Most of the guys didn't care.  Scotty Miller, the organizer, goalie and beer supplier for the Thursday night pick up group was happy to have me be there.  I was a body. I had my $20 bucks.  I was a good guy.   Others weren't so appreciative.  There was one Guy who would yell at me when I screwed up a play.  The thing was he was terrible.  He was worse than me even though he was healthy.   

There was another fellow who for some reason seemed to want to hurt me.  He would throw an elbow or a hip at me every so often.  Jerk!  And he had a buddy who used to show up.  He was a lush. He played drunk.  One night, literally a week after I'd had surgery he tried to hit me.  This was the only "fight" I'd ever had.  It wasn't a full on bout, but we got tied up in the corner near the boards.  We were tangled and he started throwing punches.  My reach was longer than his. I was able to keep him at a distance with my straight arm while I gave him a face wash.  I got the best of him. He left and has never come back.  This was over 6 or 7 years ago.  I heard he was embarrassed.   I may have converted another alcoholic in the process.  

There was another player, a guy named Mike.  Nice enough guy. He was my benchmark.  I figured as long as he played I could play because he was awful.  If I ever felt like I was worse than him I would hang them up.  Then he died.  Not on the ice, mind you. But he got sick and died.  I played for a while longer, until I took the puck to the face.  Then I started playing with the full cage.  I couldn't stand that.  I probably went out with my son a half a dozen more times after that.  Then I went on to only reffing.  

I have hockey dreams.  I had them during the time after college when I wasn't skating and I get them now.  The dreams almost always involve Uconn, not being able to find the rink and when I do I'm unable to get on the ice due to missing or broken equipment.  Analyze that!

Chapter 21: I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends

I wrote this chapter a few days prior to the death of our friend and fellow hockey dad, Steve Parker.  If you haven't read the previous post please do so and help out if you can. Thanks. 

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

One of the best parts of my experience of traveling with my son is the people I've met and friends I've made along the way.  I've met a lot of great people along the way.  I mentioned a number of them previously.  

You remember my  college teammate, Glenn Adamo who went on to run broadcast operations for the NHL and now the NFL.  Here is a fantastic article that does a great job of highlighting his life and career.  

I visited Glenn a number of times while visiting New York City when he was with the NHL.  He was always able to get us tickets for games when we were off traveling for holiday tournaments.  I went to a NY Rangers game at Madison Square Garden to watch them play the Penguins.  I sat in the NHL box, next to the Pens owner.  After the game Glenn took me down to the locker room area.  He stepped into the refs locker room and grabbed me a puck out of the ice bucket to bring back for my kids.   I met Gary Thorne, the broadcaster.  I had no idea he was so short or that he wore khakis and beat up topsiders.  Things you can't see when he's on TV. 

Glenn's son Gregg was a few years ahead of Max.  I followed Gregg as he went off to Choate then to Vermont to play for my other buddy, Brad Holt's Green Mountain Glades junior team.  Gregg ended up attending Amherst in the NESCAC(New England Small College Athletic Conference...also known as "the Little Ivies").  He's now working in private equity at Wellspring Capital Management in New York. 

During my travels I ran into and reconnected with Brad Holt.  I mentioned earlier that Brad's father was the head coach at UNH for many years.  After I graduated from Uconn Brad transferred back to New Hampshire where he had a solid career.  He played some pro hockey in Europe then coached prep school and junior hockey.  He was on involved with ownership of the Green Mountain Glades.  About four years ago he took over as head coach for the University of New England in Maine and has helped them transition from an ACHA club team to to NCAA D3.  The first few years were rough but things are looking up as UNE has a brand new rink and has been successful at recruiting quality players to their beautiful campus.  Brad has always been a phone call away in helping us navigate the junior and college hockey maze.  I've had the great pleasure of returning the favor by being his eyes on the west coast. 

Both Glenn and Brad have been tremendous resources providing invaluable guidance not only to our family, but to numerous friends who are on the same path.  

Another true mensch I've had the genuine pleasure of knowing is Larry Rocha.   Larry is just one of those great people that you may have the privilege of knowing in this life. 

Max would head off to prep school in New Hampshire. Larry was the coach of the NH Monarchs, the AAA 18u midget team Max played for.  In New England the youth teams play a split season. They play the bulk of the season prior to the prep/high school season that begins in late November.  After the school season ends the youth team concludes their season if they've qualified to go on to the national playoffs.  Here is a clip of a highlight reel goal Max scored for the Monarchs in the playoffs.  Coast to coast.  This is a kid, who for most of his life was hesitant to hang on to the puck.  Not this time.

It turns out Larry played hockey at St. Anselms at the same time I was at Uconn.  He was a freshman during my junior year, so we played against each other during my last two years.  In addition to coaching the midget AAA Monarchs, Larry previously coached at the Berkshire school and is the USA Hockey Coach-In-Chief for New England.  He's a surfer and a black belt in karate.  I spent part of a week a few summers back with the Rochas at their home near the beach in Rye, NH.  Larry put us up while Max played in the Hockey Night in Boston tournament.  Larry has a couple of great kids.  The fruit doesn't fall far from the tree in this family.  His son Cheyne just finished up his college hockey career at Army by winning the Senior Class Award.  He's a great kid and an incredible leader.

Larry told me a story about his high school days in New Jersey.  He played for Brick High School.  They had just won the state title.  Larry was the captain.  His team had the opportunity to play in a charity game vs. the Philadelphia Flyers...I'm talking Broad Street Bullies.  What a thrill that had to be.  Larry told me how the puck was dropped at the opening face-off.  One of Larry's teammates chased the puck down in the corner, only to be crushed into the boards by none other than Dave Schultz.  The poor child was knocked out cold.  Today this would have been a lawsuit.  Not then though.  

Larry skated up to Schultz and said something like, "Mr. Schultz, take it easy OK, this is just a charity game".  To which Schultz replied, "F**k you kid, this is hockey."  I'm not sure what happened next, but Larry didn't bother Mr. Schultz after that.  

I made plenty of friends in my travels over the years.  This aspect of the game is one of the most rewarding and lasting benefits that I've enjoyed over the years.   Glenn, Brad and Larry stand out because they were always there to guide and advise my son along the way.  I'm grateful.   There are other friends who have been in the trenches with me all along the way.  We've all worked very hard to give our kids the best opportunity to develop and advance in their careers and in their lives.   They know who they are and I will have some more to say about them as we proceed.

Another Sad Day

Another sad day. 

Well, we knew this was coming, but our friend and fellow hockey dad, Steve Parker passed away yesterday.   

Steve is Jon Parker's dad.  Jon and Max played together on the Jaguars Peewee "miracle" team.  They also played one bantam season together before Jon headed off to play in LA and then on to major juniors in the Western Hockey League.  He's now in his 3rd season with the Rochester Amerks of the AHL.  

Steve was one of a kind.  He held nothing back, had an opinion about everything and sugar coated nothing.  His proudest achievement is his kids. Steve loved to play roller hockey and golf. 

Charlene and Jon, especially Charlene, have put their lives on hold to take care of their dad through his illness.   The hockey community is amazing in times of need. This is such a time for these two.  If you can, I ask you to please go to this link, 

http://www.youcaring.com/memorial-fundraiser/-love-and-support-for-the-parker-family-/75016

 read the story and chip in what you can.  It will make a huge difference. 

With the exception of his children and medical staff, Steve elected to go through his illness alone.  I, and many of his friends, wish we could have been there for him during this difficult time.  Let's be there for him and his kids now. 

I'm sure many of Steve's friends have stories to tell.  Please share any of your Steve Parker stories in the comments section.  

The memorial service hasn't been finalized yet, but it will be held on August 24th or 25th. 

Chapter 20: Movin' On Up

All through this journey I felt something was missing for my kid.  My own experience of growing up in a hockey rich culture was rewarding.  People knew who I was.  I was a hockey player.  My name was in the papers after every game.  Sometimes it was  just in the box score but more often in the articles describing the previous games highlights. Occasionally there were feature articles.  It was a kick. 

Hockey in San Diego and Southern California was so much different.  While the skill and ability of the top kids coming out of SoCal was on par with anywhere, the status of hockey in the culture was quite absent.  We had recently lost our minor league Gulls team. Of course the hockey community is passionate, small and tight knit.  But outside of the rink and our circle of hockey friends it wasn't even a thing. 

What I wanted for my son was to play in games where the fans were more than just the families of the players. 

I wanted him to walk down the halls of his school and for people to see a hockey player.  I wanted him to read his name in the papers.  I'm pretty sure this is me living vicariously, but I won't judge. 

There were only two ways for this to happen. Either hockey would need to be a bigger deal here or he/we were going to need to go where it was. 

These next couple of years set the stage for him going there.  

Things got better in the meantime. It seemed like my kid  was stuck at 5 feet tall and 100lbs forever.   Finally he started to grow.  The pounds and inches would sliwly show themselves.  My little boy was finally growing up enough to be called "a midget".  To make it worse he had to spend two years as a midget minor, the ages of  16 and 17.  He wasn't even a full grown midget.  I remind you of my co-worker who upon hearing "midget hockey" was surprised that this even existed and he had no idea my son was a little person.  

Roller hockey was a huge part of his development.  He gained puck skills and confidence,  mostly as a member of his high school team.  There were also the tournaments, usually in the spring and summer.  His reluctance to hold on the puck abated.   He was becoming a more balanced player. He was named as an assistant captain and earned recognition as MVP during the season of his junior year.  The captain that season was NHLer-to-be Chad Ruhwedel. 

The increase in his skills carried over to the ice nicely.  Joe Noris was right. We didn't have to move.  Roller hockey was a great complement to ice hockey. 

About this time my previous sins as a child abuser were so forgotten that I earned my way back to the coaching ranks. 

Head coach Bruce Miller and I headed up to Reno to attend the USA Hockey level 4 coaching clinic put on by Ron White. There we got to hear from Mark Ostapina, head coach of the Milwaukee School of Engineering.  He shared his infinite wisdom and told us all about himself.  I would go on to hear about him from him for the next five years at just about every showcase I found myself attending.  Very nice guy and I'm sure he can coach. But the man could use some new material. 

At that same coaches clinic we heard from another speaker.  This time it was goalie coach, Ed Walsh.  Ed was a funny, friendly and slightly rotund guru of goalkeepers.  He knew his stuff.  I mention Ed because he's a bit of a legend in Massachusetts and New Hampshire. In addition to running his own goalie school from the basement of his home he's the goalie instructor for Umass Lowell.  My son would end up meeting him and having the opportunity to go to his home and shoot on goalies at his basement during his junior hockey years in NH. 

Earlier I mentioned one more run in with a ref.   Here it is.  It was our second year of midget minor hockey. The Gulls were playing our SoCal rival, the West Valley Wolves in Las Vegas at the Silver Stick regional tournament.  I was coming off of another back surgery.  I recall that I had taken a pain killer and my ability to communicate was slightly askew. 

We were up by a goal. It was around the midpoint in the game. We recognized that the referee was the head ref in the semi-pro Las Vegas Wranglers(ECHL) game we'd watched the night before at the Orleans Hotel.  They have a profession arena there. 

The guy had a bit of an ego.  He skated around and appeared to want us to know he was doing us a favor by just being there. 

We were breaking the puck out of our zone.  Our defenseman passed the puck ahead.  One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand....bam!   The forechecker finished his check.   It seemed to be quite a late hit.  Our defenseman was caught off guard and a little shaken but not hurt. 

"How long after he passes the puck can you hit a guy before its a penalty?", I proclaimed. My voice may have been slightly raised. I wasn't yelling at the ref.  He did catch it though and immediately blew his whistle pointed at me and gave us a bench minor. WTF?  Are you kidding me?   

I should mention that Vegas has a notorious reputation for their refs being homers.  Anyway, we had to kill the penalty, ended up getting another penalty and blew our lead.  We went on to lose and I felt awful.  I've tried to avoid pain killers ever since.  They mess with my head and ability to think and function.  Lesson learned. A painful lesson. Again.