The Flag of our Family

On any other day it takes me 15 minutes to get ready. Today, however, I just couldn’t decide what to wear.

It’s Jersey Day in honour of the Humboldt Broncos. People all across the country are donning their jerseys in honour of the 16 people that died and 13 that were injured in the devastating crash between the Humboldt Broncos bus and an 18 wheeler.

For some, this will be easy. They’ll grab their Canucks jersey that they bought at the Bay during the 2011 Stanley Cup playoff run. Others will feel bereft because their association required them to turn their jerseys in at the end of the season, and they only have photos and memories of an entire chunk of their lives. Others will arrive at work jersey-less, having forgotten in the pre-coffee din.

Some guys will stuff themselves into their peewee jerseys and spend the day talking about their glory days. Some women will be face the day in a jersey that comes down to their knees, where the sleeves get in the way of everything. People in uniform will wear team T-shirts underneath, or green ribbons on their lapels. Offices everywhere will have that unmistakable smell of the locker room, that is never really erasable, no matter how much vinegar is thrown in the washing machine.

I’ve never been a collector of “stuff”. I took a course once that said that objects or experiences in and of themselves don’t have meaning – it’s the significance we place on them that gives them their worth. Last night when I went to assess my options, I realized this was going to be harder than it looked.

I had a choice of about 30 different jerseys to choose from today. The few green ones I had were either too small, or had some sort of chocolate milk or orange Gatorade smear across them. Given that I have a day chock full of meetings, that wouldn’t work for me.

Like a Pandora bracelet, every jersey in my basement has a story, a memory, a team of people associated with it. Hockey has never been a straight line. Some good recollections, some bad experiences, lots of learning and trips and foot-in-mouth situations. Walking my fingers across the hangers brought a flood of emotion.

Brendan’s Moose Jaw Warriors jersey from the 2017 WHL Bantam draft.

Jeff’s childhood jersey from his minor hockey days in Gold River. 

Aidan’s third jerseys from his VRC Kings Peewee and Bantam AAA teams. They were the dream team that group. The 2000’s. The Year of the Dragon kids. I thought I knew hockey before, but now I can say that everything I know about hockey (and most of what I’ve learned in life) I learned from experiences with this group.

A worn and tattered Victoria Cougars jersey, where Jeff spent his WHL years before they were transferred to Prince George. He had the best mullet. 

Three different signed jerseys from the U16 team BC from 2011, where Jeff took the team to the Gold medal at the Canada Winter Games in Halifax.

A Team Canada Pacific jersey from the 2013 World Juniors. A gift from our coach.

Practice jerseys from every camp my kids have ever gone to, from spring camps to summer camps to junior camps, and everything in between. One year we had 27 families from our hockey association at the Edge of Excellence power skating camp “holiday” in Kelowna. We all stayed in the same condo complex. The wine tours, the golf games, the sun burns, the bad hair cuts. So many memories!

Detroit Red Wings, Boston Bruins, Chicago Blackhawks and Edmonton Oilers jerseys, in honour of our four favourite teams. Playoff season is always interesting in our house.

A special edition red Salmon Kings jersey that Aidan won at a game. They don’t even exist anymore.

Island Stars spring hockey jerseys – what we used to call the “real season” because we finally got to play good teams. This is where I learned about hockey politics. 

Funnily enough, I don’t have association jerseys from 14 years that my boys played with the Victoria Racquet Club.  I also don’t have the VIHL Stingers jersey, who’s #52 in red jeans and snakeskin boots captured my heart. I feel like I need to get myself one of those.

All of these jerseys, covered in stains, rips and that awesome aura of sweat, have formed the flag of our family.

I ultimately chose to wear Jeff’s 1987-88 Centennial Cup winning Notre Dame Team. It’s got traces of blood stains, dorm room stitch jobs and the sleeves are intentionally ripped open so that Jeff could get his meat hooks through them. I chose this because it honours my husband. If I hadn’t met him, I never would have been engaged in this crazy awesome hockey life. Jeff and his team are being inducted into the Saskatchewan Hockey Hall of Fame this summer. There are a lot of stories in this jersey.

I have been overwhelmed by the love and support that has poured in since writing my previous post on the fabric of the Canadian landscape that is hockey. Consider this part two of that fabric conversation. These jerseys – some are old school and hot (!!). Some are mesh. Some are that new age material where the name bars are screen-printed right in. Some are dirty. Actually – who am I kidding – they’re all pretty gross. But they are all amazing.

Today, though I didn’t own anything green, I’m showing my colours for the Humboldt Broncos. I’m wearing, and waving, the flag of our family. When you see someone in a jersey today, ask them their story. I can’t wait to hear all of yours.

#jerseysforhumboldt #humboldtstrong #hockeyisfamily.