So, someone brought up “lakes elite hockey” the other day, and boy, did that stir up some thoughts. It’s one of those things, you know? You hear the term, and it sounds all prestigious and top-tier. My own journey with something like that, well, it wasn’t exactly a straight shot to glory, more like a winding path with a few bumps.
My Brush with the “Elite” Scene
We dipped our toes into that world a few years back. My kid was showing some real promise on the ice, or so we thought – and so did a couple of local coaches who were always quick with the encouragement. So, we started looking around. “Lakes elite hockey” wasn’t the exact name of the program we encountered, but it had that same vibe, that same promise of being the best, the most competitive, the fast track.
The Initial Dive:
First, there were the tryouts. Packed rinks, even in the off-season. Kids skating their hearts out, and parents, well, parents were a whole other level. I saw more intensity on the sidelines than I sometimes see in pro games. We went through the motions, got the forms, attended the parent meetings. It was a lot of talk about commitment, about travel, about dedication. Seemed like a full-time job, almost.
The Grind Begins:
Once we were sort of “in,” the schedule was brutal. Practices at ungodly hours, tournaments every other weekend, often hours away. I swear I spent half my life in the car or in chilly arenas. And the cost! Equipment, fees, travel – it added up faster than a power play goal. It felt like we were constantly chasing something, though I wasn’t always sure what.
- Early morning practices, sometimes before school.
- Long weekend travel to different towns, different states even.
- The constant pressure to perform, even on very young kids.
I remember one particular weekend. We were at this big tournament, the kind that draws teams from all over. The atmosphere was electric, sure, but also incredibly tense. I saw a coach absolutely rip into a ten-year-old for a missed pass. The kid looked like he was about to cry. And the parents on our team, some of them were living vicariously through their kids to an uncomfortable degree. Every play was dissected, every referee call argued.
The Turning Point:
For me, the penny dropped during a long drive home from one of those far-flung games. My kid was quiet in the back seat, not the usual chatter about the game. When I asked if he was okay, he just said, “Dad, it’s not fun anymore.” That hit me hard. Here we were, chasing this “elite” dream, and the joy had just been sucked out of it for him. It had become a chore, a source of stress.
Stepping Back and Reassessing:
We had a long talk that week. We decided to pull back from that high-pressure environment. It wasn’t an easy decision, especially with all the “what ifs” and the feeling like we were quitting something. But we found a local league, much more focused on development and fun. The change was almost immediate. He started enjoying hockey again. He was laughing on the ice, experimenting with plays, not terrified of making a mistake.
So, when I hear terms like “lakes elite hockey,” I get it. I understand the appeal, the desire for excellence. But my own practice, my own experience, taught me that the “best” path isn’t always the most intense or the most prestigious. Sometimes, it’s about finding the joy and letting that lead the way. For us, stepping away from that “elite” track was the best move we ever made for his love of the game, and frankly, for our family’s sanity.
