3 on Thursday
A weekly newsletter sharing songs, stories, and other things I’m working on.
🎨📅 On sale now: My 2027 watercolor calendar is here! Twelve original paintings, one for each month. If you’d like one for yourself—or as a gift—you can order one here:
Get the 2027 watercolor calendar →
🤝🌾 This week’s newsletter and story are sponsored by the Stinar Family in Warren, Minnesota, in honor of all the farmers starting beet harvest this month. Thank you, Stinars—and thanks to all you farmers!
This week I’m sharing Chapter Two of something I think might be turning into a memoir, told through letters from my fifteen-year-old self to a musician who influenced me. Some names and dates have been changed. If you missed Chapter One, you can read it here →
October 23, 1996
Dear Daniel,
Well, I’m done with hockey. Yesterday’s practice was a nightmare. First of all, I didn’t want to dress in the locker room because all my old teammates were there, and I also didn’t want to get dressed with the junior varsity players because the coach wasn’t there and I didn’t want to have to explain everything. So I just came half dressed with my shin pads and hockey pants and changed in the warming area outside of the North Rink.
The North Rink is next to the main arena, where the artificial ice is and where the A teams practice. B teams and junior varsity normally get the North Rink. It’s extremely cold, and when you step onto the ice you feel the air hitting your nostrils and it kind of stings. I don’t mind it, though. The feeling of skating is really fun, if you’ve never done it before, which I’m guessing you haven’t since you live in California. And since most of us learn from such a young age, it feels like second nature.
It’s actually funny to me when I see people skating for the first time. They look like fawns learning how to walk, but I also feel a little sad because they’re usually older or visiting from out of town, and I bet they feel frustrated and a little dumb. Usually during “open skating” from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m., they have folding chairs in the player boxes and a lot of beginners use those to push around and help steady themselves.
I gotta admit, once there was this girl who I thought was pretty cute and she wasn’t from here and could hardly skate. She was pushing the metal folding chair around and she was with her boyfriend, who was better but also wasn’t that good, and I purposely went really close to them pretty fast and then quickly turned, and so she screamed a little and started laughing because she thought I was going to hit them. I was just trying to impress her, but now that I think about it, that wasn’t all that cool, and it probably made her boyfriend feel insecure.
Anyway, on the North Rink, I stepped out onto the ice. The junior varsity players were lining up at the far end to do some drills. I was a little late because I didn’t have a ride to the rink after school, so I had to go home first and call my friend’s dad. So everyone was already out there. I stepped out, then shut the door, and before I even turned around I heard:
“Get the fuck out of here! What are you doing?”
It was Brad. He’s one of the bigger players in 11th grade. I just kept skating toward them, and he said it again.
“What the fuck are you doing? You’re not supposed to be here.”
What’s funny is, that’s exactly what I was thinking in my own head. Thankfully, Coach Bergstrom was finishing up coaching a player to the side, and he skated over and explained that I was practicing with them today.
Honestly, I don’t remember much of the practice. I think it went fine enough, but the main thing was I just knew I didn’t belong. What Brad said was true. I shouldn’t have been there.
The best part was shoveling off the loose snow. That’s the other thing about the North Rink. When you’re done with practice, there’s no Zamboni to clear the ice for the next team’s practice like there is in the main arena. There’s a bunch of steel shovels with old hockey sticks for handles. All the players grab one and go in a circle. It’s kind of satisfying. I like the sound of the scraping and seeing the ice cleared and the snow build up in the middle. After a while, there’s a pile of snow in the center of the ice. Everyone lines up to make one gigantic shovel as big as a street plow, and we push it to the end. Some of us skate behind with a smaller giant shovel to catch any leaks, and there are always a few. At the end of the rink, the boards open, and we shovel everything to the outside. For a moment you feel the wind. You can see streetlights because it’s already dark at 4:30.
In the warming area, I took off my skates and shoulder pads, then put my coat on. I went up to the concession stand and asked Mr. Hedlund if I could use the phone to call for a ride home. Normally after practices I stay and have a sloppy joe and Russian tea. Then I’ll usually play a pickup game with friends later on the North Rink again. To tell you the truth, I used to stay until close, almost every night. But last night I didn’t want anyone to see me or talk to me. Mr. Hedlund was nice about it and didn’t ask me any questions, even though I know he probably knew something was going on since I wasn’t with the Bantam team yesterday.
I told Coach Bergstrom thanks for the practice, but I just needed a break from hockey for a while. And he was nice about it and didn’t make me feel too stupid.
Love,
Aaron
Next week I’ll share Chapter Three, about my first guitar lesson with my grandpa—and four chords that made my fingers hurt.
Support
If you’d like to help me keep making songs, stories, and other things, you can support my work monthly or with a one-time gift.
|
Monthly support $3 · $5 · $7 · $10 · $25 |
One-time support Give any amount |
Past 3 on Thursdays · Listening Room · Play Near You · Sponsor an Issue