One Timers

“Papa, je veux apprendre à patiner.” (Papa, I want to learn how to skate.)

Kris looks down at his son pulling at his pant leg. The three year old is smiling up at him, holding his toy hockey stick.

“Etes-vous sûr de cela, mon fils?” (Is that right, my son?)
“Oui, Papa.” (Yes, Papa)
“Et pourquoi voudriez-vous faire cela?” (And why would you want to do that?)
“Andi veulent jouer au hockey.” (I want to play hockey.)

Kris laughs at his son’s very serious face. If Alex wants to learn how to skate, he might as well teach him. Now that he’s old enough, it’s not completely unreasonable.

“Bien. Je vais vous apprendre à patiner.” (Okay. I’ll teach you how to skate.)

Alex looks up at his dad with a huge smile. The little kid watches his dad and all his dad’s teammates skate an play hockey and all he wants is to be exactly like them. To be a hockey player. To be a Penguin.

The two get into Kris’s car, Alex strapped in to the car seat in the back. Kris drives to the local public rink and pays to get in. It’s a gorgeous Wednesday afternoon, so there’s hardly anyone here. He pays for Alex’s rental skates and winks at the young girl working behind the counter, who clearly recognizes him. She smiles and nods, a silent agreement that she won’t make a big deal out of him being here.

Kris laces up his own skates before sitting Alex down on the bench.

“Vous devez rester assis afin que je puisse les attacher.” (You have to sit still so I can tie them.)

Alex’s body stills and he watches intently as his father laces his skates.

“Vous allez avoir à tenir sur ma main quand on commence, d'accord?” (You're going to have to hold onto my hand when we start, okay?)
“Oui.”
“Bien.”

When Kris is done tying his skates, the two stand up. Alex wobbles a little, not used to balancing on the thin blades beneath him. But Kris steadies him with just one hand. Kris steps out on the ice and turns to face his son, who’s now looking at the ice with skepticism in his eyes.

“Avez-vous confiance en moi?” (Do you trust me?)
“Oui, Papa.”

Alex reaches out and takes Kris’s hands, stepping on to the ice. His eyes are wide in fear, but there’s also a bit of amazement and excitement. He wobbles a little but corrects himself before he falls, clinging to his father’s arms. Kris lightly begins skating backwards, pulling Alex with him.

“Déplacez vos pieds.” (Move your feet.)

Alex does, mimicking his father’s feet. He glides carefully, taking very small strides. But Kris is amazed at how easily he seems to pick it up. Most kids his age try to walk on the ice, rather than glide. It takes them a while to learn how to glide instead. But Alex goes straight to the proper technique.

“Très bien, mon fils.” (Very good, my son.)
“Je patine, papa!” (I’m skating, Papa!)
“Oui, vous êtes! Et vous faites très bien.” (Yes, you are! And you’re doing very well.)

Kris begins to pick up the pace, still holding on to his son’s hands. Alex doesn’t like that, though, since his strides are still very short. So they slow down. After multiple laps around the ice, Kris decides it’s time for Alex’s first skating lesson to be over.

“Papa, je ne veux pas arrêter.” (Papa, I don’t want to stop.)
“Je suis désolé, Alex. Mais nous devons le faire.” Alex pouts. “Que diriez-vous d'aller faire un peu de yogourt congelé” (I’m sorry, Alex. But we have to..... How about we go get some frozen yogurt?)

Alex pouts less, and nods his head in agreement. Kris guides them over to the bench and removes their skates.

“Nous reviendrons, ne vous inquiétez pas. Vous allez être un grand joueur de hockey.” (We’ll come back, don’t worry. You’re going to be a great hockey player.)

Notes

Very short, I'm sorry.

Also, I don't know French and I don't even pretend to know French. If any of it is wrong, let me know and I'll fix it. Otherwise, blame google translate.