Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
The sound of clapping makes me turn my head to see what is going on, and I see everyone getting up and the parents coming over to me. I look at Amy and see her smiling. “Thank you so much for doing this,” one of the dads says with tears in his eyes. “It’s not easy to get him on the ice, and then I try to bring him to the outdoor rinks, but it’s hard.” I shake his hand and thank all the parents for trusting me with their kids. When they finally leave, it’s time to get on the ice. I walk to my locker room where the other hockey coaches are. I’ll be on the ice with the kids the whole day, and I’ve hired people to direct the activities off the ice as well as three extra pairs of hands on the ice to run the drills I set up.
Once I get on the ice, the doors open and five kids join me. One loses his balance, but he gets up again, and when I look down, I see that Dylan is the first one who skates to me. “Okay, today we are going to do five drills over and over again.” I explain to the kids what they are going to do during the drills. Standing on the side, I watch as they do the first drill, and I have say Dylan is good. He can skate faster than all the other kids, and he uses both hands to help skate and speed up, which not all kids know to do. He can skate backward and do crossovers better than all of them.
“Dylan, how old are you?” I ask him when he finishes the fifth drill before everyone.
He looks up at me through the cage of his helmet. “Eight.”
“How long have you been playing hockey?” I ask him, and he shrugs.
“Not a lot,” he says, and I shake my head. Having nieces and nephews, I get that it can either be all the time or once or twice.
“What team do you play for?”
“I only played a little bit last time because I didn’t have any equipment.” I look at his skates, and you can tell they are well worn in. “Mom tried to get some skates, but there were none.” I shake my head, not thinking about how that might hold someone back.
“Well, looks like you have skates now,” I say with a smile while the other kids finish. Then I blow the whistle. “Okay, let’s do it again,” I say. Dylan skates to the first cone, and I drop a puck for him. “Try to do it with a puck,” I suggest.
He takes the puck and then stick handles it better than any kid on the ice. When his hour is over, I call him over and ask him to stay on the ice again with the older kids, and he stands out even with kids who are ten. After three hours, we skate off the ice, and I expect him to complain that he’s tired, but instead, he grabs a water and then looks at me as he takes off his helmet. His blond hair is stuck on his head from sweat. “Are we going to do that every day?” he asks as he drinks the water.
“I can make it happen if you want.” I smile at him, and he just nods and walks back to his locker room. I follow him since he was left back on the ice, and I didn’t know where his group was. I sit down with him while he takes off his equipment, and his elbow pads are too small for him. His shin pads don’t fit properly, and don’t even get me started on the chest protector. He puts everything in the bag and then grabs the shorts and the T-shirt. “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” he says, and I get up from the bench. “Follow me. I have to change my skates, and then we can get some grub.” I turn to walk out of the locker room and run smack into Amy.
“I was looking for you,” she says, and I just turn to walk toward the locker room where my shoes are. “I was thinking we can sit together at lunch and go over a couple of things.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m having lunch with Dylan, but you can bring what you want to talk about,” I say and walk into the locker room. Dylan sits on the bench next to me, swinging his legs. “You can meet us up there.”
“Okay, yeah sure, or if anything, we can do it over dinner.”
I know what she’s doing. “Lunch will be good, Amy,” I say, and she just nods and walks out. I put on my sneakers, and we head up the stairs to the food. There are a couple of kids at the table, and some are watching the other kids play hockey from the viewing windows overlooking the rink. I grab a tray for myself and one for Dylan. “What do you want to eat?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Do you like veggies?”