Hockey Sticks
I lived on Buckingham drive. The district known as Sandwich East; the east side of the city better known as Windsor Ontario. That one lane pothole street was our playground. The arena. The stadium. We were average kids with time on our hands. Instead of cell phones. Every kid grew up dreaming of playing hockey. They imagined playing for his or her favorite team. I was just one of many. I was Dave Keon and when I played net, of course, Jacques Plante. The Toronto Maple Leaf's was (okay still are) my team. Had I known the ribbing I was going to receive my whole life, I might have changed teams. A new hockey stick was key to childhood hockey fantasy. A simple hockey stick. I didn't get one often, so when I did, I used it until it was almost used up. My younger brothers got my hand me down Sherwood's. Every kid had a hand me down Sherwood. It was what the pros used, so it was the only acceptable brand. By the time I was done with them, they were no longer hockey sti