Hodge: Family heirlooms can cause anxiety

Well, the final missing piece to the puzzle has been put in place. (Leave it to a parent to figure it out.) My rec(reation) room is complete—sans a welcoming ceremony.

Chances are good that as you read this column,  I will have navigated the initiation appropriately. If not, the scenario will certainly be resolved by the end of the weekend.

There is a bar fridge in my hockey room. That’s right—hockey room.

Better yet, said bar fridge (a.k.a. beer fridge) was free and comes with a pedigree. Mom gave it to us.

Technically, Tez’s mom gave it to us. Regardless, a bar fridge is in the basement rec room where my hockey memorabilia is strewn around like a little boy’s bedroom —and it seems quite appropriate.

I find it amazing the various sacrifices one is often prone to endure in the effort to maintain tradition—and also to pay tribute to family members. For instance, I spend several weeks every spring torn between two family traditions that honour my parents.

The first timeline tradition is making sure I get my yard and garden prepared for spring planting by spending the last two weeks of April and the first couple weeks in May weeding, turning dirt, moving compost…

Gardening is a healthy art form I learned from my mom. I recall the multiple hours we spent together in the garden with mom passing on her sage-like wisdom about all things growing.

The second tradition I learned (mainly from dear old dad) often clashes in timelines with the first one.

By genetics and years of training, I am now annually absorbed with the Stanley Cup playoffs. I learned from father all the necessary skills of watching hockey—controller in one hand, beverage in the other, a tilt proof TV table nearby, and the inherent ability to scream at inanimate objects such as a television screen.

The mere fact that these two important events take place at the same time tells me one of three possible things about God: God has a twisted sense of humour, God DOES want the male specie to learn how to multi-task, or God is not a hockey fan (we know he is big on gardens because of Eden, however we only suspect he loves hockey because otherwise—explain Bobby Orr).

So what to do?

Tez’s mom sold her long-time home and in downsizing to move into her new home decided to pass on a few gems from her house.

While Tez largely desired to scoop up a variety of weathered yet nostalgic garden ornaments, it was the bar fridge that intrigued moi. As we headed back home one of the last things mom said to us was, “Well, enjoy the little bar fridge.”

Being the sensitive and intuitive fellow that I am, I immediately felt the pressure of making sure the fridge not only arrived in one piece and was ‘carefully’ relocated to a safe spot in the home (thanks Clay and Tez), but also ‘enjoyed’.

However, time has slipped by and I have failed Tez’s mom.

The garden ornaments are in the yard, but the beer (err, bar) fridge remains alone in the corner of a dark, quiet rec-room while I struggle hard in the yard. It’s not right. The guilt and the pressure are mounting.

I am feeling strongly compelled to simply have a cold beverage from that fridge while sitting down and watching a hockey game.

Problem is the garden and yard keeps joyfully getting in the way.

I feel like I am being torn between loyalties to my mom or my dad. I feel like I am letting down Tez’s parents, and likewise feeling conflict between my own passions.

Which to do, pull dandelions or drink wine, plant beans and potatoes or cheer for the Bruins?

A couple of years back, I actually solved the dilemma by bringing a small portable TV out into the yard and playing the game in the background while working in the soil.

When a goal was scored I would check it out briefly and then return to the play by play in my potato patch. However, Teresa and I were only dating at that point and so the slick move was deemed ‘cute and creative’ back then.

Now, I am not convinced it would go over so well, especially if I moved the bar fridge outside as well.

No, suffice to say I will have to obviously give up a bit of my beauty sleep to satisfy all my desires and fill my role as a responsible dedicated family man.

I’ll have to get up earlier in the morning or attach miner’s lamp to a baseball hat and work outside in the garden late at night after the games are over.

As big of a sacrifice as that plan is—it works.

And the neat bonus is that Tez won’t be able to get real upset with me because by sitting down and enjoying the bar fridge and helping it feel welcome in its new home I am really just ‘taking one for the team’ and honouring her parents.

Can’t say I’m not a team player, not to mention loyal, and family focused.

Could you pass me the clicker?


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