Photo: Dean Jarvey Amid the sweat, sunshine, and spongy puck snapshots, something happened.
There aren't enough dollars to pay for the gift I received last week. I suspect it will yield its residual bounties in memories over time, and when I'm in hospice care hopefully some decades down the road, I have a funny feeling it will revisit me in all its textured, multicolored glory as I breathe last.
For now, though, it remains fresh.
I feel kind of fruity just writing it, but I don't know how else to describe it: This past weekend I witnessed my son feel hockey for the first time. I watched him exert himself to exhaustion, joy percolating up through him as only can happen when playing this young man's game through a child's new eyes.
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