A father and son tradition
Some traditions are a little more odd than others.
We had seasons tickets - my son and I - for the local Major Jr. hockey team.
We loved going to the rink together. Upon arrival, I’d get a plastic cup filled with beer. He would get a plastic cup filled with candy and a bottle of pop.
By the first intermission, we’d be bursting.
There was an issue though. The toilets / restrooms at the Metro Centre were filthy.
That’s not entirely true.
It’s not entirely false either.
The experience of pissing at a stadium during an intermission is a miserable one.
Holding my penis next to wobbly, red faced men with poor spacial awareness in a hyper aggressive environment is not my idea of fun.
Perhaps the elementary and middle school game of ‘kick the nerd while they’re pissing’ had an impact. To this day I am unable to pee if I think there is someone behind me.
And at the rink?
There always is.
At first I used to fake it.
I couldn’t tell my son I had pee constipation.
I’m his dad. I need to set a good example don’t you know.
So, during intermission, I’d dutifully troop off to the line of urinal making small grunts at anyone who happened to make the mistake of eye contact while in the toilet.
I’d step up. Assume the position.
My son would go into a stall.
Old enough to not want me there, I had to try to do my business in the time he conducted his.
It was always a miserable failure.
Eventually I started sneaking away midway through the period. It was easier to go with less people around. Sometimes I’d even be lucky enough to find a stall.
That became a pain in the arse too. I was missing the game.
Then I discovered something. We were allowed to use our ticket stubs to go outside to smoke.
I didn’t smoke. My son was 10 at the time. As far as I knew he didn’t smoke either.
But the people at the door didn’t know that.
“Popping out for a smoke,” I’d say. The usher would smile, scan our tickets and let us go.
We’d run across the street next and in behind an office building. There was a seldom used parking lot there and a couple of dumpsters.
They provided cover on three sides.
“Ok son, here are the rules. Keep your butt to the street and your eyes on your business. I’ll keep a look out for you and make sure no one is coming. You do the same for me.”
And that’s how it started.
And that’s what we did whether it was rain or snow or twenty below.
Because we both knew we’d be safe there.
We both knew no one would kick us in the butt as we were taking a pee.