Crossing Over to the Other Side of the Glass

It started by accident. It was just another one of my rebellious acts. My kids didn't want to go to hockey practice. They'd come so far and I'd spent so much money and suddenly they were digging their heels in. How could they skip practices after all I'd sacrificed for them? Didn't they want to be the best?

"I'll take the money and take hockey lessons myself," I said. The words slid off my tongue easily like so many other idle threats. I didn't mean to say them.

I was turning 45 and had no idea I would soon drop off a cliff into midlife crisis. It was then that I unwittingly began my metamorphosis.

I bought my first pair of Bauer hockey skates. I tucked them away in their original box for a year until I could build up the nerve to try them, but the seed was planted, the money invested and the challenge to myself and others made. There was no turning back. I was about to cross over to the other side of the glass with the players. No longer would I shiver in the stands and watch, a blurred face and muffled voice. I was about to become Coach Joyce.