Go Jets Go!

You’d think that with my lack of blog posts recently, I must have been quite busy over this winter break. The truth is, I thought I would do a lot of things over the winter break. Mainly, I was going to be creative. I was going to read biographies and poetry and write essays and journals. But in reality, I just slept. But that rest time proved to be extremely beneficial and now I’m back at school and am ready to take on my second semester of college–I think.

However, one thing I did accomplish over the break was a first for me. I’m not a sports fan (as I’ve mentioned before) but on December 15th, I attended my first ever Winnipeg Jets game. I know, I’m a 21-year-old Canadian–I should have seen loads of hockey by now. Even worse, it’s been five years since the Winnipeg Jets made their triumphant return to the NHL–five years during which I’ve done everything but watch hockey.

Just as exams were wrapping up in Creative Communications, I got a text from M’s mom that said she had two tickets to the December 15th Jets game against the St. Louis Blues and she wanted me to take M. Graciously, I accepted. Although I’m not a hockey fan myself, I know that a free ticket to a Jets game is like, a big deal.

I picked M up from daycare with my dad who had offered to drive us to the game.

“You ready to hang out, Becca?” asked M.

“You bet I am,” I said.

“M, you excited for the game?” asked my dad from the driver’s seat.

“Well, yeah, but how about we go hockey game another day,” M attempted. “Today we go Toys R Us?”

Despite M’s best efforts, we arrived at the MTS Centre where M noticed the big bright billboard advertising our hometown hockey team.

“Look,” he pointed. “It’s the kiss cam!”

My dad laughed.

“You like the kiss cam, M?”

“Oh my God,” said M. “I hope they let kisses on cheeks. Do they let kisses on cheeks, Becca?”

Laughing, I told him of course they do. Kisses on cheeks were fine.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he concluded. “Becca, I get so nervous.”

Lines like these always make me laugh until I cry. I feel a strange combination of surprise and pride whenever M uses a new word. His fast-growing vocabulary always astonishes me and allows us to communicate better every time I see him. I find myself having to readjust the way I communicate with him just to match how quickly he learns.

“Ok dude,” I said with a laugh. “We don’t have to talk about the kiss cam.”

Inside the arena, M and I bought a package of Twizzlers, a large popcorn and two Cokes. We found our seats, which ended up being in the big cushioned office chairs at the front of the section. He and I sat in our V.I.P.-like chairs, cheered when everyone else did, and whipped each other with our Twizzler swords.

My last experience with M at a large sports event was tainted by M’s noise-sensitivity. This time was similar. When the game action increased, so did the noise level in the arena and M, unable to cope with the loud noise, got angry. He put his hands over his ears when the crowd screamed the Winnipeg-famous chant, “Go Jets, go!” Suddenly, M’s eyes looked rebellious.

“No Jets, don’t,” he said, looking directly at me, his brow furrowed and his hands still covering his ears.

“M, that’s not very nice,” I said.

“No Jets, don’t,” he said again, louder this time. I ignored him.

“NO JETS, DON’T,” he screamed, louder than any of the fans around us, and collapsed into a fit of giggles.

As I watched him laughing at his own joke, I knew his anger wouldn’t last for long. Sure enough, within a few minutes M was laughing again and sticking a Twizzler in my ear.

When I dropped M off at his house, he recounted all of our stories of the night.

“Mom, Becca got some Twizzlers and we were laughing and we tried to take a picture of the hockey but they didn’t see our Twitter and I dropped some popcorn but Becca said it’s ok and–”

M turned to me.

“But Becca, we forgot one thing.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“We forgot to hang out,” he said. “Can we hang out and maybe Toys R Us tomorrow?”

Admiring the Zamboni



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