Through my hazel eyes, hockey is
life as I know it. I eat, breathe,
and sleep it. Nothing could come
between me, or drive me from it.

My father painting hockey lines on
the basement floor, and the day my three-year
old feet met the ice, were only the beginning.
Through childhood days of shooting pucks in the basement,
the dryer my goal, my grandmother
the goalie, I knew hockey ran rapid through
my veins, my blood and body pounding with
desire to play. I knew where my heart was set,
and I wouldn't deny its wishes.

I practiced every chance that I had. Playing
pick up games with the neighborhood boys.
My dream was the NHL, make a name for myself.
Blisters turning into calluses
from my blades were the constant reminder
of the hours spent learning the ice and the game.
I had friends,
the ice, my blades, my stick,
my knowledge, my team. Those things were
important.
Finally, att eighteen my dream would come true.
I would be drafted into the NHL
by the Pittsburgh Penguins.

What some people don't see or
understand, is that although I am
an NHL player, better then most
some say, I am still a kid. This road
I have traveled has been hard and
difficult for me. Giving up things a
normal kid wouldn't even think of.
I never got the personal time with
my sister Taylor, never understood who she was,
or what she wanted. Never got to be with her
when she was a baby or a toddler.
Never shared that brother and sister
bonding time. I was too busy
bearing the weight of a gift and a title. Everyone only
sees me as a hockey player, an overpaid jock,
but never as a person, never as the kid
that I am. They say I am undeserving of
all that has been handed to me. For the record,
NOTHING has been handed to me. Everything
I have, I have worked for. Everything I get
IS deserved.

For all those years of practice and dedication.
For all those years of giving up things I loved.
For all those years of a normal childhood lost,
given all to the game of hockey.

Hockey,
my life.