A Junior Hockey Journey: Crossing the Northern Border

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June 28, 2015:

The Norfolk Vikings Coach and General manager emailed me the day before I was set to arrive in Simcoe: “12:00 Meet at the clock tower on Norfolk Street. We will be doing dryland.”

We were about to cross the Canadian border through Allentown, New York and were aware that our phones would soon operate on data charges alone. We took the QEW, Queen Elizabeth Way, for about thirty minutes before switching to Route 25, then 27 to 63 and finally Talbot through Cayuga into Norfolk County. The roads were small and stretched straight for miles on each end.

In every which direction along our way, the land grew high with corn stalks and farmhouses. By 9:00pm, we were fortunate enough to witness the sun dip behind those fields, and with Tom Higginson’s ‘American Nights’ softening my ears, my eyes watched salmon pinks and the yellow bellies of perches swarm the Canadian sky. At night, the sky was dark, save for a few stars. Those modest beacons gleamed in a blackness that, I swear, I had never seen so pure. It was rural and it was bliss.

Our car had found Simcoe without complication, one of the few small miracles witnessed that day. Both our GPS and phones had malfunctioned crossing the border and were premature with their Canadian maps. We settled into The Travelodge hotel pretty late that night. And, although I recall hearing some French still buzzing behind closed doors, I had no idea those muffled ‘Putains’ would be some of my closest teammates, just a few rooms away.

-Jeff Gu

Next: [ https://hockey976.wordpress.com/2017/09/17/a-junior-hockey-journey-the-honeymoon-phase/ ]

A Junior Hockey Journey: 9 Days till a year

Students and faculty alike have often asked me about my transition back into regular school life. They ask how it was in Canada, as if our northern neighbor had held some closeted, esoteric knowledge that I, alone had uncovered. Others, rather nonchalantly, asked for conversation and just to be polite. Either way, I had my memorized lines prepared, enough just to say something, and yet, really without having to really say anything.

“Canada was a wholly unimaginable experience. I met and lived with players from all different socio-economic backgrounds, cultural backgrounds, and living habits. At some point or another, I had spent time living with players from Quebec, Slovakia, Finland, Florida, California, Colorado, Nebraska, Illinois, and West Virginia. I had become brothers with players from France, Utah, Alberta, New York, and Texas.”

I would continue, “There was one player who, at home, drove his own Ferrari, and another who sold his car for that initial July plane ticket to Ontario,” always finish with the line, “It’s like having spent a lifetime on a plane with the shutter closed and having just finally opened it to catch a glimpse of the ‘real world,’ with all its brief triumphs and indiscriminatory injustices.”

And, of course, written down, it’s all quite polished now. Originally, orally, it was the equivalent of completing jumping jacks while trying to gargle expired chocolate milk, an absolute, and unequivocally chaotic and sputtering mess.

A brief note: although I have no idea why anyone would be so inclined to try, the above metaphor is strictly that, not a challenge.

A second note: if anyone does decide it a feat of strength and try to do jumping jacks while gargling spoiled milk, send the video my way. I’m always up for a laugh.

To get to the point of what I was saying, I haven’t really recounted any experiences from last year. Was it all worth it? Do Canadians actually say ‘eh?’ How did I end up asleep on a highway? Does Tim Horton’s have the best doughnuts? (Yes. And there’s no explanation- they just do). Why is making a left turn ‘making a Larry?’

Over a semester has past since I last visited Simcoe, Ontario, early last summer. 9 days from a year today, it will have been 12 months since I left the Norfolk Vikings, having suffered a concussion. It’s been enough time that I believe that I should finally begin candidly telling some stories and rebooting the purpose of this blog- to give my Junior ‘A’ experience as a high school student in a foreign country.

-Jeff Gu

Next [ https://hockey976.wordpress.com/2015/10/20/one-step-closer/ ]

We: Thoughts on Watters World Chinatown Edition

Monday, October 3, 2016. Fox News’ “The O’Reilly Factor” included a segment called ‘Watters World Segments: Chinatown,’ where host Jesse Watters went to Chinatown, NY to poll for the presidential election. The show worked off of Repub. Candidate Donald J. Trump’s mentioning of China twelve times in the first presidential debate against former Secretary of State and Dem. Nominee for president, Hillary R. Clinton. As Bill O’Reilly put it while introducing the segment, Watters was sent to “find out what folks think about the 2016 election.” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PJmnLzw8NA4)

By all means, Fox News is a major news outlet that provides information for countless Americans about breaking social, economic, and racial issues across the globe. They are held responsible as the sole substantial ‘Republican’ news network in America and broadcast to approximately 94,700,000 American households. Yet, despite this acclaim, they number zero in Peabody Awards[1], Emmys, du-Pont Columbia awards[2], and Robert F. Kennedy Journalism [3]Awards, all prestigious decorations among the broadcasting community.

This fact may be attributed to a supreme bias among the judges. It could indicate a ‘liberal,’ and therefore detrimental, leaning for these awards. It is possible.

In light of “The O’Reilly Factor’s” recent segment, however, it is also likely that awards that dictate the best in political inclusion, expanding horizons, and encouraging empathy do not condone the blatant racism that Fox News sometimes adheres to.

In what Jesse Watters tweeted was “meant to be taken as tongue-in-cheek,” the Asian-American Journalist Association has called “rude, offensive…and damaging.”[4] The four-minute segment saw Watters mock Chinese-Americans with questions often completely unrelated to the presidential debate or Donald Trump.

He asked Americans questions such as “Am I supposed to bow to say hello?” and mocked interviewees who didn’t understand due to a language barrier. The segment was interrupted with clips from martial arts films, although it should be noted that Long Duk Dong did not make an appearance, somehow. After an older woman did not answer Watters’ question due to limited English skills, instead of the excerpt being cut from the final draft, the network added a snippet of a woman shouting “Speak! Speak! Why don’t you speak?”

The most harmful blow to Chinese Americans comes at the two-minute mark. Watters asks, “Is China, America’s enemy or friend?” The lady replies that China and America are, of course friends. The host’s rebuttal, “Can you guys take care of North Korea for us?” It’s important to be mindful that this impromptu interview is taking place in New York, in the United States. Watters speaks under the assumption that this woman is, for whatever reason, Not American; she is not a part of the ‘us’ Watters refers to. The woman’s response? A look of bewilderment followed by, “Wow…That is too much.” What is it about this woman that so detracts from her ‘Americanness’ that Watters groups her away from himself? Is it simply because she is of Asian descent? It seems so.

For the Chinese-Americans rightfully outraged by such a segment, there comes an important question: ‘Why us?’

Bill O’Reilly, the host of the show, even said following the clip, “…I know we’re going to get letters-inevitable.” So Fox knew that it was broadcasting something potentially offensive and decided to follow through anyways.

Returning to the question at hand, ‘Why us?’ the rejoinder is simple. Fox News considered the possible backlash from Chinese-Americans and decided that cheap laughs were worth it anyway; they understood that Asian Americans are some of the least politically represented minorities in the United States and they took advantage. There wouldn’t be any ‘real’ consequences.

Even Watters’ 110-character twitter ‘apology’ was a jab. “My man-on-the-street interviews are meant to be taken as tongue-in-cheek and I regret if anyone found offense.” He is disappointed if anyone found offense. For those that don’t know, this is called a non-apology. It fails to express any remorse and beyond that doesn’t not even admit any wrongdoing, instead pinning the situation on viewers.

So the answer is simple. We are targeted because there is no consequence. We are alienated because we do not have enough political representation.

And yet, when asked by others, we consider ourselves Americans. We are in the armed forces. We are novelists, and athletes, and neighbors. We pay our share of taxes. We attend the same schools that most other Americans attend and our goals of education are strong within the American Dream.

For those that say these reactions to racist stereotypes are ‘out of proportion’ or ‘over the top,’ they don’t realize what it means to be isolated from one’s country. They don’t understand the pain of being branded as a “You” among “Us.” It is devastating.

This is especially so for those first-generation immigrants who sought America as a home. They left behind their families, friends, and native countries for a place advertised as the epitome of equality and education. Today, these are goals we are still striving towards together.

So as we seek the hearts and minds of not just Asian Americans, but the span of Americans as a whole, we seek the comfort that we are all apart of the United States, that there is no ‘you’ and ‘us,’ but We.

 

 

[1] http://www.peabodyawards.com/awards

[2] https://journalism.columbia.edu/dupont

[3] http://rfkhumanrights.org/who-we-are/awards/rfk-journalism-awards/

[4] https://www.facebook.com/notes/asian-american-journalists-association/aaja-demands-an-apology-for-racist-and-offensive-fox-news-segment-on-chinese-ame/10154520729424654

Untitled: Over Fear

Life is exactly what we make it.

        At 2AM, with hard rain beating down the roof and jumping clashes of thunder, the room around me splintered. There would be no need tonight for Spotify’s John Lennon to save me from that often-suffocating nighttime silence. I was drowsy, but I couldn’t sleep, hungry, but I didn’t want to risk leaving my bed. So in a state of complete irrelevance to the storming world around me, I found myself listening to Brené Brown and her TEDx talk on the Power of Vulnerability.

        It was a conversation that delved into Brown’s research on the roles of fear, love, and vulnerability in everyday life. She begins with a story of her personal quest for understanding in her life and ends with a revelation on the overarching theme of humanity in all lives.

        As I initially listened, I agreed with Brown. She proclaimed that she hated vulnerability, “I was going to understand how vulnerability worked, and I was going to outsmart it.” I agreed with her there as well, for I too wanted to understand how I could bypass what I considered a shortcoming. I had never seen myself as a vulnerable person. I would always think that vulnerability was a weakness; it was the direct opposite of confidence, and internal fortitude, which I had always seen as the path to success. On that same timeline, I knew there was a great deal of things I was afraid of. I harbored questions and uncertainties that weighed me down- like, would I get into the right college or whether I was constantly sacrificing happiness for academic security.

        When Brown went through her ‘spiritual awakening’ as her therapist called it, or “complete breakdown” as Brown referred to it (she had trouble coming to terms with the idea that to settle with vulnerability was to stop controlling and predicting and instead simply enjoying), I followed with thoughts of my own insecurities. I realized how they held me back. In light of all her research, and thousands of stories and interviews and focus groups, she had found that through courage and by embracing vulnerability, these people discovered joy. They believed that the authenticity in admitting weaknesses and love was what made them beautiful. It was fundamental. “…They were willing to let go of who they thought they should be in order to be who they were…” and for that, they lived happier lives.

        What she learned, and what I’ve accepted as a mistake, is that in order to avoid vulnerability, we tend to numb it. But when we decide to cancel that particular emotion, we also dismiss emotion in general. As Brown puts it, we “can’t selectively numb.” When I avoided the notion of vulnerability, I also avoided joy, love, and appreciation. Brown was right.

        At this point, I’ve essentially outlined Brown’s twenty-minute talk.

        As I applied her revelation to myself, there was an inevitable internal struggle. For weeks, I had trouble with the idea that helplessness in some situations was strength. For a long time, I had known that I tended to be an anxious person- at some times, a stressful person to be around. I’ve come off as arrogant in the attempt to look confident and pretentious in the attempt to cover fears. For me there has always been alarm in the prospect of not being enough. And whether that covered academics, or friendship, or even personal relationships, the fear of appearing inapt has always been a driving force in my life. The issue of course, is that whenever I found myself in ideal situations, I still felt consumed with fear of an inevitable possible catastrophe. In giving power to my fears, I ended up driving them into reality. I then began adapting so that I could put myself in situations without risk. No downfall, I would tell myself. But, at the same time, there was also no significant reward or joy. Again, I was holding myself back. I realized that this almost perpetual anxiousness stemmed from a hatred of appearing vulnerable. I had chosen fear over personal acceptance.

        The hardest part for any aspect of life for me, what it came down to, was realizing that I am worthy of where I am. I’m excited to be where I’m at in life and I’m happy with the person I’ve turned out to be. I’ve accepted that it’s normal to have shortcomings, and even extraordinary people do. In the past few weeks, I’ve embraced the love that is already present all around me and I’m grateful I have that love. I also realize, however, that there will always be fears and doubts in life. It is what we do during times of uncertainty that defines us. To tie it all up, I’ll use a quote by pastor and author, Charles R. Swindoll, “The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past…we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude.”

 

The Divide

Three days ago, February 11 2016, NYPD officer, Peter Liang, was convicted of the manslaughter of Akai Gurley. My heart and prayers are with Mr. Gurley’s wife and little girls. Their loss is something I haven’t had the misfortune of experiencing and therefore something I cannot truly understand, and yet at some level, knowing that an innocent life is gone and knowing that two children will grow up without a father, I understand plenty.

For Liang, there is punishment in knowing he took an innocent life. There is punishment in seeing the impact of his mistake on a mother and her small children. It is not something that anyone can prepare for. Liang made a mistake. He misfired his gun and that bullet, ricocheting through a darkened stairway, shortened the life of an innocent man.

From multiple media outlets, it is told that Liang and his partnering officer, both rookies, were patrolling a public housing project. There, Liang, already on guard and tense, misfired his gun at a sudden sound while in a dark stairway. He and his partner did not initially see any injured persons and they began a quarrel about reporting the incident. It is told that Liang was primarily concerned he would get fired. Upon further investigation, the officers found a wounded Kai Gurley and his friend. In this instance, Liang acknowledged not trying to help revive the wounded Gurley. He wanted to wait for professional medical assistance. Gurley would not survive the gunshot wound.

In the past year, there have been debates nationwide about the brutality of police towards black men. Liang’s case, however, is not one of brutality. He didn’t knock a black man to the ground and strangle him to death. He didn’t knowingly fire eleven shots at a teenage boy, with the twelfth ending that boy’s life. He didn’t jail a woman for a minor traffic violation and then brutalize her until she felt her only escape was suicide. In cases across the States where officers have purposely preyed on unarmed blacks, why is it that the officer of a misfire is finally the one convicted of manslaughter?

For me, the injustice in Liang’s conviction isn’t entirely the conviction itself, but that other officers did not receive a punishment for far worse crimes. It can be argued that following the precedent set in the trials of these officers, Daniel Pantaleo, Darren Wilson, and Brian Encinia, still free, that Peter Liang too should not be convicted.

I do not believe that Liang is a scapegoat for the NY release of Daniel Pantaleo in his crime against Eric Garner. Liang killed an innocent man and for that he should receive punishment. I hope, however, that whatever form he receives is that which is universal to all officers. If Liang must serve 15 years, then let this be a precedent set for future cases. If an officer who’s misfire killed an unarmed man receives 15 years in prison, then may an officer who is indicted of purposeful murder, brutality, and racism receive a heavier or at very least similar conviction.

There is a trust that needs to be renewed between citizens and police. When officers perform their duty in a way that ends in the deaths of innocent and unarmed citizens, they are no longer ‘Serving and Protecting.’ And while these incidents do not reflect the majority of officers, they do shed light on the struggle of our nation as a whole. My opinion is in solidarity with that of Executive Director of the Committee Against Anti-Asian Violence, Cathy Dong, “We have always said this case only means that we want to make sure that [all] officers be held accountable.”

If this conviction paves the way for more just trials involving officers in the future, then Liang’s 15 years would become a sacrifice for safer streets, for both citizens and officers alike.

 

Finding A Voice

It was 4am when I finally settled into that sweet comforting cobalt sea that was my bed. With Spotify eliciting Louis Armstrong’s smooth ‘What a Wonderful World,’ I allowed my brain to begin shutting down. I dimmed my nightstand light and one by one, exited out of my Safari tabs, The Princetonian, Huffington Post, NBC News, LindyLi.com, a wiki page of William Tong, and of course, Facebook.

For the past three hours, I had been researching questions for Congressional candidate Lindy Li. She is running for the stateswoman position in the sixth district of Pennsylvania, but due to the incredible monetary support of Chinese-American Nutmeggers, had been holding a fundraiser in Fairfield, Connecticut. The Chinese-American adults had rallied a group of youths to attend in the hopes of them becoming inspired to one day follow Li’s example. They had hoped that some of us might stray from the well-beaten STEM pathway and discover a career as a public servant.

I awoke the next morning in a haze as anyone coming off of five hours of sleep might expect. I mustered my strength, rose from my navy sheets and covers and downed a Red Bull before slipping into the shower. A half hour later, I emerged from my room; hair combed and fully clad in a button down and tie.

In the 20-minute drive to Fairfield, I reflected on the conflicting emotions I felt towards Li. As a member of the Chinese-American community, I have always been hopeful for the success of any Chinese-American man or woman hoping to attain political office. As both a student journalist and leader, however, I am cautioned to give support to any cause without first personally analyzing their motivation.

At present, Chinese-Americans seem desperate for a voice in politics. It is a weakness in an otherwise strong community, but where weakness lies, there are those that may seek to further their personal agendas. It is not an accusation that I make against Ms. Li, but it is a caution everyone must take before supporting any candidate. They must ask themselves how this candidate helps our community once he/she has attained office and whether we believe that they will hold true to their word.

In our eyes, we are similar to those first European immigrants, who once famously cried, “No Taxation without representation!” We have only a small voice with which to speak as we seek to fight for our constitutional rights as American citizens. But, as we look for leadership among our own, we must be careful to choose a candidate who firmly stands for our communal beliefs.

It was American leadership Author and Public Speaker, John Maxwell who once said, “People buy into the leader before they buy into the vision.” As I arrived at Jinn’s Fresh Noodle house in Fairfield, Connecticut on the second morning of 2016, I had prepared to evaluate Li’s personal convictions, rather than her vision and political stance.

I walked into Jinn’s with a predetermined idea about Li from the hours I had spent researching her just before the sun rose. To me, her switching of races from the 7^th district to the admittedly politically weaker 6^th made it seem that she didn’t truly want to represent the people of any district, but rather, was looking for the easier win. From a search on the Princetonian, it seemed to me that she never really came in contact with opposing forces during her time at Princeton. She had attained the Class president title her freshman year with the resignation of Ashton Miller and in years after ran unopposed. In my mind, she was untested and inexperienced. And yet, as I walked into Jinn’s, I sincerely hoped that my assessment would be proved wrong. The Chinese-American people needed to add to its voice.

In the three-hour fundraiser during which I knew Lindy Li, I saw the roots of a better America for Chinese-Americans. Through William Tong, through Tony Hwang, and now through Lindy Li, the Chinese community has begun building up its political influence.

As of now, I do not believe that Li is the ideal candidate to represent Chinese-American interests. But, through experience and her acceptance of helpful criticism, she can come close. She has the aggressive drive that will help her win elections. But, what she truly accomplishes in office can only be determined through her desire to attend to the people. I don’t believe she is there yet. I hope that Li can learn to become a public servant who isn’t concerned with the power she holds, but one that can truly identify as a politician, of the people, for the people. When I talked with her in private before the event began, she mentioned that she didn’t believe that ideology was important. She felt that action spoke louder. But to Li, I say that louder isn’t necessarily always better heard. As a Chinese-American, and I imagine, especially as a woman, you will come under fire from many different sources during your career. It is in these times that you must have found ideals that will hold you true to your cause. For what is action that has forgotten reason? It is nothing but a voice lost in the wind.

With this New Year of 2016, I’ve felt the renewed strength of a faint breath call to me from within. It is a voice that has long pushed me. One that rang clear as I sought a campaign for the student representative role at my high school and called again as I pushed for fundraisers in the annual Connecticut Food Drive enterprise season. It was the same whisper that had entangled my life in the throes of ice hockey as a boy. It pushed me to skate harder, eat better. It is the voice of passion and in knowing that I’ve found something that means the world to me. As hockey has come to exercise my physical state, I’ve found a trainer to employ my love of people. As more Chinese-Americans like William Tong and Lindy Li come together, our voice only grows stronger. In the end, the result is what deems us worthy. We will not stand voiceless.

Junior A

Duncan Keith of the Chicago Blackhawks, Drew Doughty of the LA Kings, PK Subban of the Montreal Canadiens, I scoured YouTube for highlights of my favorite professional hockey players. I had never been so anxious. This was my chance to show my team that even at sixteen, I would be a strong contributor for the team for the rest of the year. As I scrutinized Keith’s poke checks, Doughty’s agility, Subban’s edgework, I did my best to channel their mindsets. The night before my team’s season opener, I spent a restless night watching film.

I awoke from my hockey-induced slumber the next morning ready for the game of my life. As I laced up my skates for morning skate, a troubling doubt entered my mind. I had left behind everything to follow a passion. Instead of pursuing a normal education, I was taking classes online. I only saw my friends over a distant social media. My parents needed to make a ten-hour drive just to see me. Was it worth it? With all this floating in my head, I stumbled onto the ice.

Missed passes, weak shots, improper form while skating, basic mistakes plagued my skate. Each mistake only acted as a catalyst for the next one. My spirit sank. As a buzzer announced the end of practice, I followed the crowd off the ice. There, just outside the locker room, on a plain white sheet of paper, I read the short single-syllabled two lettered last name I had known my entire life. Along seventeen other players, I would be dressing for the Viking’s season opener. Despite the bad skate, I would still be given the honor of being one of the first players to don team colors.

As I sat in my stall to take it all in, I recalled the words of Sports psychologist, Dr. Nate Zinsser, from a camp earlier that summer at Hamilton College, “If you play well, tell yourself you’re playing well. Let it sink in. If you play bad, tell yourself you got the bad out of the way. Now, there are only good plays left.” Following those words, I prepared myself. The substandard morning skate just meant that I was bound for a good game.

A short nap and a hearty lunch later, the team was on a coach bus bound for Niagara. In the two-hour drive, my ears filled with the motivational words of John Wooden, Gordie “Mr. Hockey” Howe, and Vince Lombardi. In those two hours, I repeated to myself the enchanting words of Mr. Hockey,  “You find that you have peace of mind and can enjoy yourself, get more sleep, and rest when you know that it was a one hundred percent effort that you gave – win or lose.”

An hour before the start of the game, I thought we would have to forfeit. Save for a lone goalie, our Frenchie, Renan Sarrazin, the team didn’t have game sweaters. Due to a clerical mix-up, we waited as some car we didn’t know raced to our rescue. The life of our first game had been mastered by what I would later discover had been a small green Toyota. We watched as the minutes for warm-ups counted down, until a buzzer finally signaled the end. Minutes before the official start of the matchup, our jerseys arrived.

Before the team’s first game, Coach Brian Fish instructed us “Forget the refs and forget Niagara, do what you have to do when you get out there. I don’t care what they say, warm your goalie up.” With our blood pumping and faces determined and anxious, the Norfolk Vikings poured out of the locker room onto the ice. We clapped our sticks into the ice, as fans roared for the start of the game. Moments later the puck dropped.

Fish called the lines from the bench, Bullivant, Pretorius, Brown, Tomlinson, Gu. As I skated towards a center face-off circle, buddies who hadn’t dressed that game cheered me on and the veteran defensemen gave me stick taps as I passed them. The game was fast-paced. By the end of my first shift, my legs were burning and I was out of breath. I loved every second of it. In my head, I had made the first cut. I was, officially, a Junior A hockey player.

My first goal came that night. Unofficially. Right off an offensive face-off, Mark Pretorius of San Diego won the puck back and from my wrist shot, the puck found its way above the goalie’s pad and into the net. It was waved off due to an extra man from our team who shouldn’t have been on the ice.

By the end of the third period, I had played my first Junior A hockey game. Hell, I’d even scored.

On the returning bus ride, as I sat near the coach bus window looking out into the clear Ontario sky, I was tapped on the shoulder by my head coach, Brian Fish. He gestured me to the front of the bus where he had been sitting and offered me a seat next to his. I took my new spot as he began, “You had a good game. You’ve gotta be quicker of course, and make sure you’re making the most out of gym every morning. We’ll make a Junior A player out of you; a good one. But you’ve gotta trust me. Some of the lessons and systems I teach you will seem unconventional. Sometimes even counterintuitive, but trust me.” As I nodded my head and made a short allegiance to my coach, he put a hand on my shoulder and nodded me back to my original seat. Not really a conversation, but the significance of it all to me was measured in one thought. As a sixteen year old, playing against twenty and twenty-one year olds, my coach trusted me. I had peace of mind.

In those first moments cutting into that hard ice, I knew. Just sitting in the locker rooms, waiting for those jerseys, I already knew. I was meant to be there. I’m meant to be here, following my dream.

A Unity Split into Two

From the bottom up, tanned Oxfords, two-pleat smoky dress pants, a light blue polo. I stared at myself in the mirror, straining over every crease and every loose dog hair, scrutinizing the Viking staring back at me.

It was 7:30pm August 18, 2015 and the night of the town council meeting. The councilors would be deciding whether to allow the Vikings an enlarged pro-style changing room, by approving or denying a motion to tear down the wall between two adjoining locker rooms.

First impressions were a big deal. Coach Fish knew, the Vikings knew. The team planned to attend the meeting uniform in our Norfolk crested blue polos.

A fellow Viking, Nick Holmes, picked me up in his brown Ford Escape along with Renan Sarrazin and Andres Roy. We joked about the locker room situation and laughed about our night watching tents in Dover.

To us, the changing room was almost a guarantee. The meeting was a formality. I had thought to myself during that car ride, I’m in it for the long-haul. I knew the boys on our team, I’ve seen the members of our community in Norfolk, this was a place I wanted to be a part of. Even eating at Wendy’s earlier that day, an older gentleman wished us luck on the decision.

As Coach Brian Fish would later reiterate to the town council, for the past summer, the Vikings had worked towards being a part of Norfolk. We had set up tents for the Friendship and Ice-cream Festivals, we took the Night-Watch security shifts at the Summer Festival. One of my buddies sitting in the car with me at the time, Renan had put in eight hours, 6:00pm to 2:00am, the past Saturday making sure nothing awry happened to vender’s tents at the Summer Fest. I, myself had only managed to go for six hours, 11:00pm to 5:00am. Numerous other Vikings gave up their Saturday nights and then recovering Sunday, all for the community.

The team walked into the library together and sat in the pews. Sitting down, I saw smiles from some of the Council members when our case was presented. It looked as though we would get the locker rooms we were promised. As the night continued, I continually wiped the sweat from the palm of my hands. I watched as the eyes of the team followed each speaker. I heard the team whispering excitement to one another when a council member showed favor towards the rooms and encouragement to each other when one did not. An hour later, a motion was made to vote.

At the time, locker rooms didn’t seem as important as workout regiments or ice-time, but I realize now that having stalls, being together as a team, it forms a culture that reflects the unity of Norfolk. We would represent the wonderful hockey town of Simcoe all across Ontario, and yet, on home ice, our team would be divided by a wall.

How could a hockey community such as Norfolk County allow our team to be pieced apart during games, practices, when all that needed was to simply tear down a non load-bearing wall. An action, that our team had promised to pay for. Any time a team needed to use the professionally styled changing room, the Vikings promised to allow it. We are a part of this community, and we wanted a changing room that reflected the unity of Norfolk. We wanted a room that younger players could use and admire. We hoped for understanding.

Regardless of the decision, we shall continue to strive to work and love this community that has come to be known as our home, away from home.

On August 18, 2015, the motion to create such a space was denied. On the returning car ride, there was only silence and anguish.