The twine bulges as the puck slams into the back of the net. The puck that was just on the blade of my stick. It’s a goal. A Golden goal. A goal that I just scored in overtime in the Gold Medal game at the World Junior tournament, to give Canada the gold medal. Finnish goaltender Mikko Lehtinen looks behind him in disbelief.
Suddenly, I’m mobbed by my teammates. They all pile on top of me. It’s hard to breath. Things are getting blurry. Is it lack of oxygen from having an entire team on top of you, laughing, screaming and celebrating? No, it’s from the tears in my eyes. I did it. The entire country said I would do it…and I did. The fans here in Canada are going nuts.
After the game, we head back to the locker room. My mother and father come in. Mom’s crying her eyes out as usual. I think she cries everytime I score a goal. She gives me a big hug. I look at dad who quickly looks away, as if something has caught his eye. “Good game,” he says. But I saw the redness and moisture in his eyes. He won’t let me see it though. That’s just like him. I know they are both proud of me.
Fast forward 6 months. It’s the NHL Entry Draft being held in
“Welcome to the NHL Entry Draft. Before we get things underway, we have a trade to announce.” The building is buzzing as it appears the Islanders have possibly traded down. I look at mom and dad, as my situation is now unclear. I have been checking out Long Island for the last couple of weeks, could it be for nothing? Bettman continues…”The NY Islanders have traded the #1 overall pick to the Detroit Red Wings in exchang…” Nobody can hear Bettman anymore. Joe Louis Arena is going crazy. The Wings have the #1 pick! Suddenly, chants of “DT! DT! DT!” start up. I think I’m going to faint. I love the Red Wings. Suddenly, the waste of time in Long Island doesn't seem so bad anymore.
Ken Holland, Jim Nill, Mike Babcock and Steve Yzerman go to the podium to make their selection. “With the #1 pick in the draft, the Detroit Red Wings are proud to select, Derrick Thomas.” I stand up. Mom is crying. Big shocker there. I turned to her and give her a hug. I thank her for everything she has done, everything she has sacrificed for me. I look over to dad, who is looking at me and smiling…and crying. The sight of that makes me start crying too. Fans are cheering for me, “DT!, DT!, DT!”
I make my way to the podium, passing by Mikko Lehtinen, who gives me a dirty look. Still sore from the World Juniors, I guess. I walk up the steps and Gary Bettman extends his hand. “Welcome to the NH…”
BLEEP. BLEEP. BLEEP. BLEEP.
I reach over to turn off my alarm clock. I rub my eyes and look at the clock. 5:00 a.m. The house is silent. The dream. I had it again. I’ve lost track of how many times I have dreamt the same dream. Funny how that Lehtinen kid made it into the dream. I guess it was because I had read some articles yesterday on how he is supposed to be the next big Finnish goaltender. I sit up and look around. It still doesn’t feel like home. It’s not really. I’ve never had a real home. Moving from place to place for as long as I can remember. Foster homes. Ever since my mom and dad left me in a basket on a church doorstep three months into my life. Everything can change, in a New York minute
Suddenly, I’m mobbed by my teammates. They all pile on top of me. It’s hard to breath. Things are getting blurry. Is it lack of oxygen from having an entire team on top of you, laughing, screaming and celebrating? No, it’s from the tears in my eyes. I did it. The entire country said I would do it…and I did. The fans here in Canada are going nuts.
After the game, we head back to the locker room. My mother and father come in. Mom’s crying her eyes out as usual. I think she cries everytime I score a goal. She gives me a big hug. I look at dad who quickly looks away, as if something has caught his eye. “Good game,” he says. But I saw the redness and moisture in his eyes. He won’t let me see it though. That’s just like him. I know they are both proud of me.
Fast forward 6 months. It’s the NHL Entry Draft being held in
“Welcome to the NHL Entry Draft. Before we get things underway, we have a trade to announce.” The building is buzzing as it appears the Islanders have possibly traded down. I look at mom and dad, as my situation is now unclear. I have been checking out Long Island for the last couple of weeks, could it be for nothing? Bettman continues…”The NY Islanders have traded the #1 overall pick to the Detroit Red Wings in exchang…” Nobody can hear Bettman anymore. Joe Louis Arena is going crazy. The Wings have the #1 pick! Suddenly, chants of “DT! DT! DT!” start up. I think I’m going to faint. I love the Red Wings. Suddenly, the waste of time in Long Island doesn't seem so bad anymore.
Ken Holland, Jim Nill, Mike Babcock and Steve Yzerman go to the podium to make their selection. “With the #1 pick in the draft, the Detroit Red Wings are proud to select, Derrick Thomas.” I stand up. Mom is crying. Big shocker there. I turned to her and give her a hug. I thank her for everything she has done, everything she has sacrificed for me. I look over to dad, who is looking at me and smiling…and crying. The sight of that makes me start crying too. Fans are cheering for me, “DT!, DT!, DT!”
I make my way to the podium, passing by Mikko Lehtinen, who gives me a dirty look. Still sore from the World Juniors, I guess. I walk up the steps and Gary Bettman extends his hand. “Welcome to the NH…”
BLEEP. BLEEP. BLEEP. BLEEP.
I reach over to turn off my alarm clock. I rub my eyes and look at the clock. 5:00 a.m. The house is silent. The dream. I had it again. I’ve lost track of how many times I have dreamt the same dream. Funny how that Lehtinen kid made it into the dream. I guess it was because I had read some articles yesterday on how he is supposed to be the next big Finnish goaltender. I sit up and look around. It still doesn’t feel like home. It’s not really. I’ve never had a real home. Moving from place to place for as long as I can remember. Foster homes. Ever since my mom and dad left me in a basket on a church doorstep three months into my life. Everything can change, in a New York minute
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