A Trip to The Hall of Fame

This weekend I was presented with the opportunity to take my dad and my son for an impromptu trip to the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto.

My dad used to scout for the NY Islanders and was part of the team in the early 80s when the Islanders went on a winning streak and won 4 stanley cups in a row.  My dad’s name is on the cup which is on display at the Hockey Hall of Fame.  There has also always been a rumour that my dad’s photo and/or name was displayed elsewhere in the hall of fame but, my mom being the non-sporty person that she is, we have yet to take a family trip down to actually check it out.

I was SO excited that Rob is taking his class to Toronto and to the Hockey Hall of Fame and even MORE excited when I heard that he needed to go there first to scope it out.  Would I be interested in going?  Sure thing…as long as he didn’t mind me bringing the kid and the dad with us.

In my head it SOUNDED like a stress free, nostalgic and exciting adventure for the 4 of us to embark on.  The hardest part, however, involved getting us all OUT of the house and THERE.

Parking down there is an expensive and logistical nightmare.  Taking my dad on the TTC is equally as daunting.  Trying to fit all of us (and Mia) into my mom’s car for her to drive us all down is next to impossible.  It took 4 adults, 2 iphone apps, a phone call and several checks of various websites before finally we determined that there would be a bus at the bottom of our street for Rob and Toby to take arriving in 7 min, and Mom and Mia would chauffeur dad and me down there separately.

Then came the part where we had to get them out of the house.

Leaving with Toby went something like this:

“Come on, Toby it’s time to go!” says adult A

“WHY!?!?!?” said in an irritatingly whiny voice “Where are we GO-ING?!?”

Adult A explains exciting outing ahead then attempts to hand Toby his coat.

“Where’s my HAT?” the whining continued. “Do I HAVE to wear my gloves?”

We finally have whiny 5 year old dressed when he announces every parent’s favourite line,

“I have to pee.”

Clothes are removed, Toby is hastily escorted to the washroom and casually reminded that the bus is arriving in TWO MINUTES.  (he doesn’t care)

Finally we get Rob and Toby out of the house only to receive a text 15 min later informing us that our ingenious bus tracking iphone app is completely off.  (WAS there even a bus that comes to the bottom of my parents’ street?)

Meanwhile, back at the house, mom and I set about getting my dad ready to go.

 Leaving with my Dad went something like this:

“Come on, Dad it’s time to go!” says adult B

“WHY!?!?!?” said in an irritatingly whiny voice “Where are we GO-ING?!?”

Adult B explains exciting outing ahead then attempts to hand dad his coat.

“Where’s my HAT?” the whining continues. “Do I HAVE to wear my gloves?”

We finally have whiny 86 year old dressed when he announces (I kid you not)

“Hold on a second, Lyssie, I have to go to the washroom.”

Escorting my father to the washroom was done with less haste.  Thank goodness there was no bus to catch.

Eventually and miraculously we somehow all found ourselves 30 minutes later reunited at the Hockey hall of Fame on Front street.  For the first time since this outing had been suggested, I sensed a speckle of excitement as the ticket lady offered to give Toby and my dad a hand stamp.  They BOTH thought this was pretty exciting and that set the tone for the afternoon.

With Toby sitting on my dad’s lap in his wheelchair, I pushed my two precious boys around and listened to the marvels that unfolded.

I heard Toby lament over the condition of the old hockey skates and sticks and my dad proudly boast about his very similar ones that he played on in minus 26 degree weather on the pond behind his parents house.  I saw Toby ooh and ah over the hockey greats and heard my dad nonchalantly reminisce about scouting them when they were mere kids in highschool.  I watched in awe as the great love of sports bounced back and forth between them in their candid bantor. 

While the boys got settled in to watch the 3-D hockey movie (Toby’s very first movie in a theatre!)  I rushed over to see where the Stanley Cup was so we could go there next.  To my dismay it was up a few flights of stairs, at the end of a giant room and had a series of steps and a ramp in order to get to it.  Getting my dad there was going to be a NIGHTMARE.  I spent the next few minutes mapping out the handicapped route before rushing back to the movie theatre, the plan ruminating through my head.

The movie was a huge hit (minus the part where Toby and my dad almost fell of their seats simultaneously when the puck came flying out at us.)  It appropriately highlighted the exhileration of winning the Stanley cup which was a perfect segue to our next adventure of getting everyone TO the actual Stanley cup.

Even I was in awe of it when we finally entered the great room (twenty minutes and two blistered hands later!!!!)   We wheeled my dad up to it, helped him out, and waited in line to approach.

I don’t think I’ve seen my dad walk that far, unaided, in quite some time, but we were all eager to look at the great Stanley Cup and marvel at his name.   Rob was a skeptic the whole time, proclaiming out loud various practicalities on how not EVERY name was going to be on it.  And that’s the thing with Alzheimers patients- - they aren’t always that great at pleading their case.

So when our turn FINALLY came and my dad miraculously made it up the plank and to the cup, it shocked us ALL when we found it.

HARRY BOYD, SCOUT

Written 4 separate times on the Stanley Cup.

“WOW!” Toby said incredulously, “PAPA!  Your team WON this cup FOUR TIMES!”

The pride in my dad’s eyes was contagious. 

“So we did, Toby…” he said thoughtfully. “Look at that!”

A generous bystander offered to take our picture and as the camera snapped that moment in time still for us, I knew it would be one I’d reflect on for years to come.

The snap of the camera also heralded the end of our journey and the inevitable start of the long trip home.  This time we WERE taking dad on the TTC (with a stop for lunch beforehand, of course).  We arrived home several hours later exhausted from our exciting day of travels.  My mom  (and post nap Mia) came rushing down to greet the great voyagers upon our return and asked us immediately how our afternoon had been.

“It was fine, Grandmda” said a very practical Toby, “But I spilled milk on my pizza and mommy had to wipe it up and then I didn’t get a drink with my meal but I got a huge scoop of ice cream afterwards and GUESS what flavour it was - - CHOCOLATE.”

She turned to my dad who was already headed for his chair in front of the TV

“What did you think, Harry?”

“Oh, fine…” he said vaguely  “I guess we had a good time.”

And that’s when I realized it.

I had planned with earnest excitement this amazing afternoon that my dad and my son would forever remember; one that would forever symbolize for them their innate bond over their mutual love of sports.  I pictured them both in perpetual cherishment of the photo we took.   I imagined the pride they would feel both in hindsight over my father’s, and Toby’s grandfather’s great accomplishment in sport.

But as it turns out, these beautiful moments and intense emotions and memories weren’t just for them; it was also for me.  It was I who got to watch my two boys- the bookends of my life –cherish each other’s observations and accomplishments as the random afternoon I’d subjected them to unfolded.  And the pride, at the end of the day, was all mine.

I have looked at this photo many times since it was taken Saturday afternoon; I suspect it is one I will look at hundreds of times in the future.  In it I see such joy and pride but above all else I feel a sense of gratitude for my dad, for my son, and for this beautiful and spontaneous afternoon I was given.