Practice Makes Perfect.

-3rd P.O.V-
“Ahhhh!” the little girl in the small Lemieux jersey squealed. Her dad picked her up and thrusted her into the air, cheering with her. The Penguins have just won their game, Lemieux scoring the winning goal. She giggled, watching her dad make faces at her from below. He held her tightly as they plopped back down on the sofa. The little girl sighed deeply, resting her little body into the side of her dads.
“ I lub hot-tee!” she yelled, out randomly. Hopefully catching the attention. Something about seeing tall, sweaty men, on skates scoring goals entranced her. She couldn’t stop watching it. Her mom, on the other hand, would always try to stop her from watching it. Her reason is unknown. Whenever her father was away, at work, her mom would put on figure skating. Much to her distaste, there was nothing she could do.
“Oh, you love hockey so much? Huh?” her dad teased, tickling her slightly. She shrilled out a giggle on the couch. Making her pigtails bounce on her shoulders.
“Yeah…” she let out. Her dad unwrapped his arm and walked to his bedroom. Confused, the little girl tried attempting to slide her five year old body off the couch and onto the floor. Her dad came back, with a little hockey stick, perfectly sized for her. She squealed with delight, as she went to grab for it. Her dad handed the stick to her and gave her a little bouncy ball. He then took the coffee table and pushed it to the front of the couch.
“Alright little miss hockey, I want to shoot a goal for me. Got it?” asked. She bobbed her head back and forth, her eyes widened with excitement. He placed the ball on the ground and whistled at her. She hit the stick on the floor and took off running, pushing the puck with the toe of the stick. She then swung at the ball and it went rolling underneath the table and couch.
“Goal!” her dad’s booming voiced yelled out. She started jumping up and down, running in place. Her dad chuckled at the sight of her, and picked her up and swung her around. Her giggles filled the house.
Her mother, on the other hand, was coming from work. She was pulling up in her black Cadillac, on the gravel driveway to the house. She got out, smoothed her black skirt, shut the driver’s door and locked the car. She slung her purse over her left shoulder and carried her brief case up to the house, following the sidewalk up to the house. She opened the door, and called out, notifying she was home. In response, she got:
“Hat trick, hat trick, hat trick!” from her husband. She rolled her eyes. A hockey game, she thought. To her, hockey was the most obscured game out there. It was worse than football to her. It was nothing but violence and rude, ugly men. She walked out to the living room, the clicking of her heels ending as she hit the carpeted room. What she saw, was worse than a hockey game. Her own daughter, had a hockey stick in her tiny arms. She could hit something and break it! Or worse, she could hurt herself. Its nothing but, violence, hockey is.
“ What is going on?” her voice, demanding at her husband.
“ Hot-tee!” her daughter voice rang out. Her mothers face seem to frown, even more. Her eyes, narrowed at her husband, and asked her daughter to get ready for bed, seeing as bed time was way over limits. The little girl took the stick with her to her room. She placed the stick delicately by her closet door. She smiled proudly at it. She then waltz over to her bed and jumped up and climbed up onto it. She kicked at her pink and purple blankets at the bottom of her bed. She then sat and waited for one of her parents to put her to bed.
She didn’t like frilly, skinny girls in dresses that skated pretty. She likes the big, muscled men. Who sweat more than ever, and get into fights. She likes seeing people score cool goals. She loves hockey. But she knows her mom doesn’t. But her dad will do anything for her.
She could hear her mother and father talking in raised, hushed voices. Even though it was indistinctive of what they were saying. She knew it was about her and hockey. A big “no, no”.
After what seemed to be forever, her dad finally came into her room and closed the door softly. He walked over to her and placed the blankets over her tiny body and sat by her feet. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes landed on the hockey stick near her closet. He smiled to himself, and promised that he will try to get her to play. He promised.
He looked back at her, herself already sleeping soundly. A small smile appeared on his face. He got up softly, and placed a small kiss on her forehead and walked to the door. He opened it and walked out, glancing one last time at her. She was going to be his little miss hockey, whether he wife didn’t know about it or not. He smiled and shut the door carefully, leaving the little girl to dream to heart’s content.