Life lessons. Parenting. Sports.

Did Coming to the Rescue of Someone in Need Go Too Far?

The cost of kindness may have been the hopes and dreams of others.

A deep vein in the bloodline of my wife’s family pulses kindness through each of them, and over two decades, my wife has bled that into me. I am, without question, a much nicer person since having married her.

I suspect her thoughtfulness is largely due to being raised in a Catholic family. Guided by the church and honest, hard-working, morally solid parents and siblings, my wife is unfailingly kind and generous.

I know many of you take issue with organized religion, but there is one teaching that is sound in theory and practice — charity. And even when you have very little, you can still give.

Financially, we have been bankrupt. In 2019, after a decade of running a consulting firm, an extended downturn in the market did me in. I closed down my business, then claimed business and personal bankruptcy.

After a resurgence in a new career, injury, and illness took what was left. The struggle has been real, and the sacrifices have been many and harsh. But through it all, we always succeeded in giving where and when we could. My wife cares tremendously about people; she shows heart, and I provide food.

This past weekend was an example of that mindset. Although I’m not upset about the outcome, it made me wonder — what if we weren’t so ingrained with helping others? Would it have changed things? And would that result have been worth it to make the wrong-right decision?

My daughter plays hockey, and it was the playoffs. Our girls finished 3rd in the standings and faced the 2nd place team in the second round. The opposing team is excellent. They are a small group that has played and stayed together for over five years. Our group was a mix of new players and old teammates.

Game 1 was in the opposing team’s rink, and we lost.

It’s a two-game playoff round. Each win earns two points. A tie one point each. If the games are split, there would be a third game with sudden death — first goal wins.

Game 2 was on our turf, and our girls were up for it.

Then came the cry for help from the other squad. Upon arriving at our venue, one of the opposing players realized she’d somehow arrived without her gear. It must have been a devastating discovery, and the consequences could have been catastrophic.

Without that girl in the lineup, their team roster would be one short of the required number to play. They would have had to forfeit, not only losing that game but the tie-breaker as well. One unfortunate mistake would end their season. Our team would have advanced.

Maybe it was a coincidence or something else, but, as it turned out, I had forgotten something as well.

I had just turned from the last lights in town and was only a few minutes down the highway to the rink, 20 minutes away, when I realized I had left behind the tray of lemon squares I’d baked for the girl’s intermission between periods. I almost always bake something for games, thinking the bit of food and a sugar kick might be enough to give our girls an edge.

I hit the brakes and was set to turn back, but my wife would have none of it; her assistant captain-daughter was not going to be late, especially not for a game as big as this. It was do-or-die.

I held my ground for a moment, saying we’d still make it on time, but my wife gave me that look where her eyes said more than her mouth needed to.

Arguing with my wife is one thing. Taking on a hockey mom is something else entirely. The car did not turn back.

I was still returning home to retrieve the lemon squares when my wife called from the rink where I’d left them. She told me the tragic news of the girl with the missing equipment. My wife immediately came to the rescue without even considering our potential benefit from that bit of bad luck.

She plays hockey, has the gear, and I was already halfway home.

Even more impressive was that the girl and my wife were nearly the same sizes. My wife is 5'2 (but when she reads this, her first comment will be, “I’m five-two and a half!”), and the girl needing the gear is a thirteen-year-old. The equipment would work, and the girls could play.

I made it back to the rink with the gear and the pastry.

It was a fantastic game. Our girls took an early lead, and my daughter applied the advice given that she’d asked for; she played the body and left the puck. My girl is small; the other team is not. My daughter played twice her size and held the opposing team’s star players to zero shots on net. We scored again, and victory, leading to a sudden-death deciding game, seemed inevitable.

After two periods, the game was tied at two a piece. I prayed the lemon squares would tip the scales in our favor.

Halfway through the third period, my daughter shook off her coverage and had a split-second opening for a shot. She faked right, came back on her left heel, and ripped a shot at the goalie, who was already spread out on the ice expecting a move to the low side.

The top half of the net was a yawning cage.

The puck sailed over the open net, cracking into the glass above and behind. It was a moment my daughter would lament over for days.

With only a few minutes remaining in the final period, our coach pulled our goalie for an extra skater. We needed a win to get the overtime game.

As usual for home games, I was running the scoresheet and stood at ice level next to my daughter’s bench. She had just come off the ice for a change, after having chased the star player around the ice, stuck to her closer than a shadow. I watched my daughter take an elbow, cross-check, and practically piggyback the opposing player up and down the ice. She was exhausted.

While she stood, her legs shaking, shoulders heavy, head down, and breathing hard, the other team broke free and shot for our empty net. The puck skipped off the outside of the post and stayed out.

We had one more chance, but the mighty charge would come up short.

The game would end in a 2–2 tie; the other team would advance to another round, and our girl’s season was over.

Locker room reports relayed many tears and the disappointment of not having just five more minutes.

Losing is a part of playing, and my daughter was okay with it. She knew she gave everything and hadn’t made any mistakes causing a goal. When we were halfway home, she wondered aloud about what would have happened if we hadn’t gotten that girl her gear.

My stomach turned sour, and I sighed heavily. Again, I looked at my wife, but this time, my eyes showed her the words. “We would have won. They wouldn’t have been able to play. You’re too damn nice.”

Her eyes held no regret.

“We did the right thing,” I said over my shoulder, catching my daughter in the rearview mirror, looking out her window. “It was a great game. Be proud of how you played.”

Mom also piped in, stating how the girl and her mother must have felt sickened when they realized they didn’t have her gear. “Can you imagine letting your entire team down? Losing without even having a chance to play? All because of a silly mistake. They would have done the same for us.”

“Yeah,” My daughter answered, still looking off into the distant line of mountains, “I know. It was the right thing to do, and you guys were really nice to get your gear for her. It just sucks.”

By the time we arrived back in town, my daughter’s spirits were higher. Her teammates were going for a late breakfast at a favorite restaurant. Afterward, they would spend the entire day and into the evening together, unwilling to let each other go and wanting to hold onto the bond that made them a team on the ice.

At home, my wife told me how the mom of the girl with the forgotten gear came over and hugged her, tears in her eyes and endlessly grateful. Likewise, her daughter, high from the victory and brimming with emotion, burst into tears and hugged my wife, thanking her profusely for her kindness and quick thinking. They took pictures together, and I’m sure that next season, it will be a happy reunion as our teams meet again.

None of my daughter’s teammates even mentioned the girl without the gear. They all played a great game, did their best and they lost. That’s hockey, and that’s life. You win some, you lose some, but acting with care and consideration of others isn’t wrong, and that’s the life lesson we can all learn.

Later, when my daughter thinks back about her teammates and the year they had together, she won’t remember the missing gear crisis; she’ll think of the days spent on the ice, the road trips on the bus, and the mischief in hotels and towns.

Wins and losses won’t mean a thing.

Are you feeling charitable? If so, there is a tipping option below, or if you want to look at my Amazon wish list, click here. Please note that I am not having a mid-life crisis; the vinyl records and 80s posters on the wish list are contributions from my teenage daughter.

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