The rink was divided into two.
One side was for those students who wanted to play hockey,
and the other was for those who just wished to skate.
The hockey side was filled with... little Mario Lemieux hockey players.
Boys and one girl who could skate circles around this mom blogger.
And yes, I do know how to skate.
The "skating only" side was filled with kids who likely only skate a few times a year.
It was far less exciting than the "all out could have been the NHL playoffs" side.
Youngest was disappointed there wasn't a stick for her,
and just watched fascinated by the action happening over on the other side of the rink.
She wasn't too interested in skating round and round with good o'l mom.
I ended up finding her a stick.
I promised the boy he could have it back in five when he was finished resting.
Youngest took off and I watched.
She didn't care that boys were whizzing past her.
She held her own and managed to make a few passes.
I knew if I had been in grade four
I would have happily stayed on my nice "slow and steady" side.
And I did watch a little apprehensively
as sticks were coming up high and pucks were being shot hard.
She was loving it.
And in that moment, I was too.
Because it was then that I understood...
for the very first time,
what it felt like,
to be a proud Canadian