What we didn’t need at our house was another boy; we already have a 3-to-1 advantage unless you count the dogs.
We didn’t need more hockey in our house, either. In the seven days from Aug. 31 through Sept. 6, we will have attended three practices in Oklahoma City and four games in Dallas. That doesn’t count street hockey, Xbox hockey, hockey on YouTube, hockey trading cards, or, please save us, the rowdy games of knee hockey in the living room. We didn’t need to drive to any more ice rinks, watch any more games, or air out any more gear.
That being the case, we agreed to host a 20-year-old hockey player for the 2017-2018 season, which started in August and lasts until March – April if they make the playoffs.
It was sort of spur-of-the-moment, decided by text message while my wife and I were in different states. The exchange, made while I was sitting in an ice rink (where else?) in Missouri, went something like this:
“When do we have to decide?”
“Pretty soon. Camp starts in a week or so.”
“I think we should do it.”
“OK. I’ll text Brian and let him know.”
True to my word, I texted Brian and that was that.
A week later I got a text from Brian: “Your player is Daniel Klinecky. A booster club member is going to pick him up at the airport tomorrow night. They should be at your house about 9. Hope you’re good with that.”
Eek! We had a closet to clean out! New sheets to buy! And we can’t back out now! Crap!
“Sure,” I texted back. And then I started wondering: What do we know about this guy? Nothing. We don’t know where he’s from, what his parents do, how old he is – nada.
“What do we know about him?” I texted Brian.
I got the quintessential hockey reply.
“6’1″ 174# Defenseman”
Although I still needed to know whether he shot right or left, we were making progress.
“Where is he from?”
“Czech Republic.”
“Does he speak English?”
“He can communicate.”
“How old is he?”
“20.”
And that’s what we knew about Daniel, who was delayed by Customs officials in Washington, D.C., and arrived a day late with one small suitcase, a hockey bag, and a big, eager smile.
His first home-cooked meal on American soil was lasagna, which he seemed to like, and we began to discover things. We learned that Daniel’s limited English vocabulary includes the phrase, “I like pizza!” We also discovered that all the free translator apps limit the number of phrases that can be translated in a day, so we were thwarted somewhere between learning that Daniel is an only child, that his mother is a hairstylist, and that his father … crap. That has to wait until tomorrow. We were reduced to pantomime and the time-tested technique of slowing one’s speech while SPEA-KING VER-Y LOUD-LY. We had to remind ourselves that people from the Czech Republic are not deaf. We also had to look up Czech Republic because we weren’t 100 percent sure where it was (it borders Germany, Austria, Poland and Slovakia), or how big it is (less than half the size of Oklahoma, but with more than twice the number of people).
Our boys are excited to have a big brother hockey buddy and, unexpectedly, so are we. Maybe we needed another boy and some more hockey after all. Daniel’s season with the OKC Jr. Blazers starts Sept. 22, and we’ll be there, rooting. Applause and affection sound the same in every language.
We still hear from Daniel through Facebook. In 2018 he sent a care package from Czech Republic, some local candy and a couple of his jerseys for the boys. We were all delighted. Since Daniel left we've been billeting Vitalli Mikhailov (shoots left). He's from Cherepovets, Russia, and has become a family member. We're not at all sure how we're going to cope with his return to Russia when he turns 21.