The Day He Chose the Crease

The bag sat on the rug.
It was twice the size of his skater bag.
It filled the space between the sofa and the coffee table.

Jonah pulled the zipper back.
The teeth caught once.
The heavy nylon opened wide.

He stepped out of his shoes.
He already wore his black compression shirt.
He wore his compression pants.
He pulled on the tall anti-cut socks.
They reached his knees.

He looked at the pile on the floor.
He did not know where to start.

Goalie gear is difficult to put on the first time.
Everything is thick.
Everything has straps.
A beginner needs help with the order.

“Jock first.”

He stepped into the goalie jock.
The cup was twice the thickness of his player cup.
He fastened the waistband.

Next came the knee protectors.
He wrapped the elastic bands around his thighs.
The velcro ripped with a heavy tear.
He pulled the tabs tight.

He picked up the goalie pants.
They were stiff.
They were square.
He stepped into the legs.
He pulled them up.

The internal belt was buried under thick padding.
Jonah could not find the clip.
His hands fumbled behind the hip foam.

I knelt down on the rug beside him.
I reached inside the padding.
I found the nylon buckle.
I pulled the strap.
I tied the front laces.

He sat on the edge of the sofa.
He laced his goalie skates.
The blades were flat.
The white cowlings were thick around the boots.

Then came the leg pads.
They lay side by side on the carpet.
White leather with faded blue trim.

Jonah placed his left shin against the channel.
There were leather straps and velcro tabs.
He tried to thread the boot strap through the metal buckle.
His fingers slipped off the stiff leather.
He stopped.
He looked at the second buckle with quiet hesitation.

“Let me.”

I took the strap from his fingers.
I pulled the thick leather through the metal ring.
I pressed the prong into the hole.
We worked through the calf wraps together.
More heavy velcro.
More ripping sounds.
We strapped the right leg the same way.

Earlier that afternoon, I had typed words into a search bar.
I had looked for a youth hockey goalie parent guide.
I wanted instructions.
I wanted someone to explain the order of the gear.
I wanted someone to explain the cost.
The travel.
The silence on the long car rides home.

The guide gave charts.
It explained thigh rise and knee cradles.
It did not explain how heavy the gear feels in a quiet living room.
It did not explain what happens when your twelve-year-old chooses the crease.

Jonah stood up.
He fastened the neck protector around his throat.
The velcro rasped against his skin.

He picked up the chest protector.
The piece was massive.
It did not bend.

He lifted the clunky weight over his head.
His arms slid through the stiff sleeves.
The shoulder floaters sat high against his jaw.
He could not reach the rear clips.

I walked behind him.
I pulled the wide rib straps across his back.
The velcro ripped again.
I pressed the tabs flat.

He stood still in the center of the room.
His arms rested outward at an angle.
They could not hang straight down anymore.

He put his mouthguard in.
He slid the white helmet over his face.
I snapped the five backplate harnesses into place.

He picked up the catcher with his left hand.
He squeezed the deep pocket twice.
The leather made a dry, hollow pop.

He picked up the blocker.
He slid his right hand behind the plastic board.

I handed him the goalie stick.
The paddle was wide.
The white tape on the blade rested on the rug.

Jonah lowered his hips.
He dropped down onto the carpet.

The pads hit the wool with a flat thud.
The coffee table rattled slightly.

He flared the pads out into a wide butterfly.
He held his hands up in front of his chest.
Empty hands.

No glove yet.
No stick.
Just the posture.

The room stayed quiet.
No ice.
No arena.
No scoreboard.

He drove his weight forward.
He stood back up without using his hands.

The nylon scraped against the rug.

“How does it feel?”

“Heavy.”

“Good heavy?”

He adjusted his blocker.
Didn’t smile.
Didn’t explain.

“Yes.”

The choice was already made.

…..To Be Continued