A cheap hockey net. Seemed like a
simple request. Not too demanding. We were sick and tired of
collecting a missed shots that rolled down the entire length of the
block. Tired of the using bricks for goal posts. Tired of the in and
out childhood disputes. Was the shot in or was it out. We wanted
a hockey net. Not the flimsy skinny aluminum tubular L shaped ball of
string. We wanted a real official size skinny aluminum tubular ball of string.
We tried to convince my mom and dad that for the good of the
neighborhood, we needed it. My parents weren't buying it. My parents
money went to more important things, like food for seven kids. And
our piggy banks were always empty. The money went to more important
things, like penny candy and hockey cards. We could have bugged my
dad and I suppose he'd eventually give in. Well, he kind of did. He
did get us some empty oat bags from his brother's barn. We got free
wood from a pile that was lying next to the fence. All we needed
was three or four empty oat bags, the stapler from my mothers desk,
extra staples from my moms desk, scissors, a couple two by fours and
whatever nails we could find rummaging through my dad's peanut butter
bear jar. The famous peanut butter bear jar. My dad had a habit of
using whatever make shift container he could find to house his stash.
A
margarine tub, an old cashew can, a dried up paint can. He could have labelled them shit I might use, one day. Everything
was a possible reservoir of future use crap. My mother's missing
Tupperware wasn't missing, it was just repurposed. Leftovers.
Leftover bolts from a ceiling fan. Leftover screws from entertainment unit. A
washer from a rusty water nozzle. A water nozzle. Hey! It fit.
My friends grandpa smoked a pipe. He smoked for one reason and for one reason only. To fill empty tobacco tins with nuts, bolts, washers and nails. Oh my! A handy mans paradise. Every exposed beam in the basement workshop had Export “A” tins hanging from them. He had a system. Every tin had one of the contents inside glued to the bottom, so he knew what was inside. Ingenious! My dad system wasn't as elaborate but it worked. I was happy to help him with his OCD. I ate a lot of peanut butter when I was a kid. He only had a few good hiding places for his stash. The shed was one but his favorite was just above the washer and dryer. A small corner cupboard, only accessible by climbing up. We had to time the climb because the washer ran for eight hours a day. A kid could get killed falling off it, if the spin cycle kicked in. The cupboard door was made of reinforced steel. The wood exterior was a decoy. It was so hard to open. The catch inside was sticky and that's the way my dad wanted it. Only he, with his Popeye arms could pry it open. One day, out of desperation ( a hockey net project) I mustered up enough strength. It opened. A beam of light shone down to illuminate the treasure trove of priceless useless shit my dad had collected over the years. The bear jar glowed. I reached in and grabbed the holy grail and slowly twisted the bears brain and dumped its contents out. There before my eyes, the items I'm sure his mind thought I could use this someday. Someday was here. We got nails, all kinds of nails. I took what I needed carefully pour the unused shit back into the bear and closed the door making sure it was shut tight. He would never notice.
The one thing he couldn't help but notice.
A one hundred pound hockey net. It would have been easier to buy one from Canadian Tire and a hell of a lot easier to move. But we built it ourselves. And we were proud. We were taught at a young age if you can't afford it, improvise. So we did. The dimensions were a little off and I was a little short. Heck, the crossed bar was above my head but it worked and that's all that mattered. Mind you when someone yelled car! It took two of us to get it off the street.
Thanks for stopping by. If you like my stories, I would love to hear from you. Feel free to comment and share.
Denny D
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