Living on the Other Side of Childhood (Bruce Dierbeck) wrote a blog about nostalgia. He mentioned hockey as a kid, which in turn threw me back in time for my own bit of nostalgia. When you say the word hockey to me, I don't think of men with no teeth skating around on a huge block of ice, trying desperately to hit that tiny black puck into a net protected by a masked villain with red eyes. Nor do I think of pulling your shirt over your head and pounding in your toothless face. I think of KIIIITTTTCHEN HOOOOCKEY!!!. Yes, that's what I said, Kitchen Hockey.
My sister and I are about 3 years apart in age. We grew up with two much older brothers. One of which being 13 years older than me and the other 9 years older. My oldest brother, from what I remember, was suffering from his teen rage and date nights so he wasn't home much that I remember. For the record our relationship is pretty tight now though. The effects of growing up I guess. The other one, J we will call him, was around quite often. He liked to bust you in the face, bloodying your nose with door nobs. Gender did not matter to him. He was looking to take out all of his rage from the "older brother" on someone, and he could have given a rip to the fact that I was a wee precious little girl. Blowing up GI Joes with firecrackers was just not cutting it. Well, I have to say that I'm sort of glad, because had he not been that way, Kitchen Hockey would have never been invented.
I don't know when or how he got two girls interested in the idea, but Aimers and I eagerly agreed to play. Our kitchen was pretty narrow and at the end we had a doorway. We would open up the door and use that as the goal. What did we use for a puck you might ask? Anything around that would shatter you knee caps and shins. We mostly used black electrical tape and wrapped it around two jar lids. Pads? Who needed protective pads. We were tough! Okay, maybe I would use my shin guards from softball. I have chicken legs. We would grab a hockey stick and in those famous words of Wayne and Garth, "GAME ON!"
Those were the days. Laughing and cutting up, literally cutting up our shins. J had no mercy either. You could see the fire in his eyes at the end of the kitchen as he reared back and hit a nice slapshot into your face. I may be exaggerating a bit. His eyes were yellow. He would usually come over after we hit the tile with a concerned look on his face. After seeing we were okay he would eagerly jump back over to offense and slap it again. No Mercy. We broke things, hurt each other, laughed and busted our butts. It was some of the most fun I ever had as a kid.
J always had great ideas for indoor games. Hallway football was a favorite past-time. We may have stopped that one after we shattered the hall light two or three times and a vase of our mother's that we desperately tried to bring back to life with all the super glue in the world. Carpet burn was the much suffered injury for that one. Bedroom Baseball was another favorite. We would use one of those little bats from the Sounds games and wad up a piece of paper for the ball. Yeah, we ended that one when my sister broke my shin in half with that tiny bat as she swung and I sat on the dresser. Ok, she didn't break my shin in half, but I went abruptly from hysterical laughing to intense pain and surprise. I was the one that always go hurt. Looking back, I would do it all over again though. Well actually, I might make Aimers the goalie more often.
Oh, the good old days.
My sister and I are about 3 years apart in age. We grew up with two much older brothers. One of which being 13 years older than me and the other 9 years older. My oldest brother, from what I remember, was suffering from his teen rage and date nights so he wasn't home much that I remember. For the record our relationship is pretty tight now though. The effects of growing up I guess. The other one, J we will call him, was around quite often. He liked to bust you in the face, bloodying your nose with door nobs. Gender did not matter to him. He was looking to take out all of his rage from the "older brother" on someone, and he could have given a rip to the fact that I was a wee precious little girl. Blowing up GI Joes with firecrackers was just not cutting it. Well, I have to say that I'm sort of glad, because had he not been that way, Kitchen Hockey would have never been invented.
I don't know when or how he got two girls interested in the idea, but Aimers and I eagerly agreed to play. Our kitchen was pretty narrow and at the end we had a doorway. We would open up the door and use that as the goal. What did we use for a puck you might ask? Anything around that would shatter you knee caps and shins. We mostly used black electrical tape and wrapped it around two jar lids. Pads? Who needed protective pads. We were tough! Okay, maybe I would use my shin guards from softball. I have chicken legs. We would grab a hockey stick and in those famous words of Wayne and Garth, "GAME ON!"
Those were the days. Laughing and cutting up, literally cutting up our shins. J had no mercy either. You could see the fire in his eyes at the end of the kitchen as he reared back and hit a nice slapshot into your face. I may be exaggerating a bit. His eyes were yellow. He would usually come over after we hit the tile with a concerned look on his face. After seeing we were okay he would eagerly jump back over to offense and slap it again. No Mercy. We broke things, hurt each other, laughed and busted our butts. It was some of the most fun I ever had as a kid.
J always had great ideas for indoor games. Hallway football was a favorite past-time. We may have stopped that one after we shattered the hall light two or three times and a vase of our mother's that we desperately tried to bring back to life with all the super glue in the world. Carpet burn was the much suffered injury for that one. Bedroom Baseball was another favorite. We would use one of those little bats from the Sounds games and wad up a piece of paper for the ball. Yeah, we ended that one when my sister broke my shin in half with that tiny bat as she swung and I sat on the dresser. Ok, she didn't break my shin in half, but I went abruptly from hysterical laughing to intense pain and surprise. I was the one that always go hurt. Looking back, I would do it all over again though. Well actually, I might make Aimers the goalie more often.
Oh, the good old days.
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