He might have been four years old when these mittens held his tiny hands as he stood on the ice for the first time.  They held him while he learned to skate and picked him up after he fell. Soon, he had learned to get up on his own and they cheered him on. They kept me warm while he skated for hours and hours on the outdoors rinks, only stopping when the lights were shut off at the end of the day.  These mittens slipped on and off my hands before and after his skates were tied and untied a million times through the years.

They held the doors to the arena open. The doors that truly unlocked his passion. They held hockey bags, sticks, skates and carried posters, pins, treat bags and chuck- a- pucks in and out of mite jamborees, squirt and peewee hockey tournaments.  They worked score clocks, ran music and opened penalty doors during bantam games.  They held hot chocolate, hot cider and hot coffee in rinks all throughout the state.

These mittens kept my hands warm so I could wipe a tear after a defeat and cup my son’s face in my hands to give him encouragement.  They were in my purse, on my hands, and sometimes under my rear end on a cold bleacher should I have forgotten my blanket.  They were left in parking lots only to be discovered again, dropped hundreds of times and yet always found their way back to my hands.  They were shared with little hockey sisters and other hockey moms who needed the comfort of a warm embrace or a needed pair of mittens to block out the cold.

They have traveled across our great state of Minnesota to some of the most historic arenas and spent time at some of the most celebrated tournaments.  They have been on and off in the tightest of games and spent hours clapping.  They have tended to injuries, broken bones, held bags of ice and held hands to comfort.  They have been yanked, squeezed, twisted and stretched through victories and defeat and yet their ability to keep my hands warm never fades. 

After games, they have shaken the hands of hockey moms and dads from opposing teams and forged friendships that will remain for years to come.  They have hugged relatives and thanked them for cheering on my son.  Undoubtedly, my favorite role for them is the hug they give my son after he comes out of the locker room following a game.

They held the steering wheel to and from years and years of practice.  Traveling to the outside rinks whenever there was time to skate. These mittens brought drinks, dinners, and snacks to the warming shack and helped shovel when a fresh layer of snow had covered the ice when the kids wanted to skate.

They have been on the hand of every hockey mom I know, for the love of a game that is far more than just a game.

I have wondered through the years as my mittens no longer needed to open doors, carry bags, sticks or skates what they might do next.  They were soon given the task of holding hot breakfasts like a pair of pot holders for early morning practices.  They held programs and brackets and a camera to capture the celebration of a win or the intensity of a game.  They still wiped tears and celebrated victories, and yet my mittens felt just a little bit different on my hands.  They still fit yet as I watched my son grow taller than me, I was struck with the notion that these mittens that had once carried and held everything he needed might not be needed so much anymore.

Last night, my mittens held my son after he completed his last youth bantam hockey game.  He came out of the locker room and as they reached across his broad shoulders and around his tall frame, I looked up at him to hug him and I was flooded with emotions.  While he was moving out of his youth hockey days, he was moving forward to a new level of the game.  My mittens will come with us, I am sure of this.  They will find a new purpose and a new reason to be worn, all the while keeping my hands warm.

Through the years my mittens have logged many wonderful hockey hours.  Of course, they have always served their main purpose, my hands have been kept warm.  Yet, as I look back, my mittens carry my most precious memories as a hockey mom.

 I can’t wait to see what they bring me next.

Kelly Biondi

Hockey Mom