Ever since I was oId enough to skate, I loved hockey. I wasn’t really the greatest skater, but that didn’t keep my dad from teaching me the secret of making a great slap shot. My dad worshipped hockey, my mom didn’t, so she moved to Egypt, where there’s not a hockey rink within 1,500 miles. Dad took me to games to see our favorite player, Terry O’Reilly, “The Tasmanian Devil.” He wasn’t a big guy, but he feared nobody, just like me. Handsome fellow, huh? He said when I grew up, I could be anything. But all I ever wanted to be was a hockey player. My childhood was going great, but life is full of surprises. After the funeral, I was sent to live with my grandma in Waterbury. I was nervous, since I didn’t know her that well. She dressed like Gene Simmons from Kiss to cheer me up. She’s the sweetest person in the world. After my dad died, I developed a short fuse. That kid stole my party blower. Instead of asking for it back, I hit him in the head repeatedly... with a hammer. Most of the time, I was quick to say I was sorry. Years later, I played junior hockey and still hoId two league records, most time spent in a penalty box, and I was the onIy guy to ever try to stab someone with his skates. After I graduated, I had a lot of different jobs. I was a road worker, a janitor, a security guard, a gas station attendant, and a plumber. Lately, I’ve been working construction. It’s not bad. I’m a good shot with a nail gun. But one day my boss, Mr. Larson, got in the way. Apparently, he aIso has a short fuse. Look at the monster. He got in a few lucky punches, but I feel I won the fight. Anyway, those jobs weren’t for me. I was put on this planet for one reason… to play hockey.
