Hockey isn't just a game for me-it's a tribute, a way to honor the man who first put a stick in my hands and taught me to love the sport. My dad introduced me to hockey when I was young, showing me how to skate, handle the puck, and appreciate the beauty of the game. It became something special we shared, a bond built playing table top hockey, shooting balls in the garage or on our gravel driveway, and the excitement of watching games together.

When I was eight, my world shifted. My dad passed away from cancer, and with his loss came challenges that made continuing youth hockey impossible for my family. The time commitment and financial strain were too much, and for years, I couldn't play. But the love for the game never left me-it was something my dad had given me, something that still connected us even though he was gone.

Now, playing hockey is more than just stepping onto the ice. It's a way to feel close to my dad, to carry on what he taught me. Every pass, every goal, every moment skating brings back the passion we shared. I play because hockey reminds me of him-it keeps his memory alive in a way nothing else can. And every time I lace up my skates, I know he's with me.