third star on the left

part one

Put on your equipment. Shoulder pads, shin pads - all of the protective gear. You don't want an injury out there.

Step into some socks. Tape them up tight, so they don't go anywhere. The last thing you want is to have your socks get caught in your skates and start unravelling.

Pull up your shorts. Yes, shorts. You need to be fast. Faster than the other team. Pants will only slow you down. Trust me, you'll like them.

Slip on a jersey. Keep your number visible. If they can't see it, they won't notice you. They won't pay attention to a name they can't read.

Strap up your helmet. If that thing isn't on good and tight, you're going to muck up your brain. You're a smart kid. Don't let that turn to mush because you forgot to tighten your helmet.

Lace up your skates. Double knot them for safe keeping. Don't let your feet wiggle. Not even your toes. I know it hurts, but the pain will go away once you're on that ice. Everything goes away on the ice, trust me. You can't be tripping over your own feet out there. Trip on other people so they take penalties. That's how the game works.

Take those damn guards off. You're not going to cut anyone by sitting on that bench. Your feet should be on the ice, not a body.

Grab your gloves. Yes they make your hands look five times bigger. You need it.

Is your stick taped? Good. Go re-tape it. The fresher the tape, the better the grip. Leave your gloves in your cubby, dammit.

What colour are you- No. Take that damn tape off and use this one. I don't care if your favourite colour is green. You want them to see your back, not your stick.

Where's your mouth guard? Is it clean? Gross. Go wash it. That thing is supposed to protect you, not give you gingivitis. I don't care if you brushed your teeth. Go scrub that rubber.

Ready? Good. What are you- Go back and get your gloves. You can't have bare hands out there. That puck moves at 80 clicks an hour. You'll shatter your knuckles.

All right kid, I think you're ready. What? You've never skated before? God dammit- Bev, get him the chair.

"Tom, you're going to scare the poor boy." Mom's laughing, but she pulls a little red chair out from the shed without question. I remember Jake playing with it last summer. He's only three. Dad says he won't play for a couple years yet. But he'll learn to skate when he's five, just like me.

"Come on now, Josh. You can do this. Keep your head up- No, don't look at your feet. You'll trip over them. Watch where you're going. No, Josh, don't overstate it, you'll run into the-" I crash into the chair, and tumble onto the frozen layer of pond out back behind our house. My cheeks are cold from the ice and wind, but I get up, just like Dad taught me - one foot, and then the other - and I fix the chair.

"I think it's in his way," Mom chuckles. Her hand is in front of her mouth, but I know she's smiling. I'm just like my dad, she always says.

"Too advanced," Dad mutters, a proud grin on his face. "I knew he wouldn't need that stupid chair." I give my parents a big 1000 watt smile and cast the chair aside.

Jake can use it. I don't need it.

And then I'm off. And Dad can't catch me.

"Look at him go, Mary! He's flying out there." I turn back to see Mrs. Crawford, the neighbour, peering over the fence at us. She's talking to Mom.

"Look out!"

And then I crash land in a pile of snow and brush. Dad races over in his skates and plucks me out of the drift. "You okay, Champ?" He asks. "You're not hurt, are you?"

I shake my head, cold and sopping wet. My hair sticks out from under the helmet, damp with sweat and snow. It's starting to harden from the cold, but I don't care. I'm having fun.

Dad starts laughing. His eyes crinkle and his dimple shows. Jake likes to poke it; see how deep it is. "You're a real tough sport, Champ," he says. "You're going to make it big out there."

And I don't doubt him for a second.