Garth Rides For Hope

         I grew up anxiously awaiting the frigid days of Winter. You see, I was madly and passionately in love with the game of Hockey. Born in 1952, one of my earliest memories is of watching Hockey Night in Canada with my Father. Dad was a diehard Toronto Maple Leafs fan, and a vaguely remembered 3 year old version of myself loved spending every Saturday night watching the weekly game with him. Originally I'd tried cheering for the Maple Leafs. My father however, absolutely forbade it and patiently explained why.

   "Son, we're going to spend the rest of our lives watching hockey together and if we're cheering for the same team, that wouldn't be any fun, so pick a different team and we'll get a little rivalry going."
   I was crushed. I really wanted to cheer along with my Daddy, but he was adamant and eventually I relented; choosing another of the original six, the Montreal Canadiens.
   On a cold winter day in my fourth year, I was outside playing with the little girl next door on her swings. I'll never forget her swinging and singing a little ditty to a tune I'm sure she created. As she sang, steam puffed out of her mouth, accompanying her catchy one word song. One word I'll never forget.
   "Fuuuuck, Fuck       Fuuuuck, Fuck       Fuckity, Fuckity       Fuck, Fuck."
   I'd never heard this strange new word before. What did it mean? I liked the sound of it, but had absolutely no idea how to use it. Consequentially, I forgot all about it, or so I thought.
   It's Saturday night and Uncle Al is over, he and Dad are having a few drinks while we watch the game, My favourite two men in the whole wide world are sitting on the couch, and I've the best spot on the floor, right in front of the television. In tonight's game, my beloved Habs are playing Dad's dastardly Leafs. I get totally caught up in the excitement, the lead changes hands several times and with just seconds remaining, it's all tied up. To my horror, those gosh darned Leafs score. Without thinking, I slammed my fist onto the floor, screaming.
   "FUCK"
   Still don't know why I said it. Didn't even know what it meant. It just felt right. Dad jumped to his feet. Instantly he had a vice like grip on my scrawny little arm, and his belt magically appeared in his other hand. Shocked by this sudden development, I was frantically trying to escape, but wasn't getting anywhere fast. Dad was trying to give me a licking, and we were spinning in circles in the middle of the living-room. Meanwhile on the sofa, Uncle Al was laughing so hard, he nearly fell on the floor. His laughter was contagious and even though my little butt was stinging, I found myself laughing along with him. My frustrated father paused whupping me only long enough to warn his younger brother.
   "If you don't stop laughing, You're next."