Page 64 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“Great.” I give her a clap.

She replies with a wide grin and two thumbs up.

“Okay, that’s good for today,” Natalie shouts. “Everyone, gather around.”

She beckons the kids to her—the ones on the ice, those standing around the edge watching, and the few in the bandstand helping themselves to hot chocolate from two huge Thermos jugs that Natalie brought.

I join them but stand behind her and off to the side. Not something I would ever do at work, where I’m always trying to talk someone into doing something my way. But this is Natalie’s show, not mine.

“Fantastic,” she tells her assembled crowd. “It’s all coming together. Yesterday’s run-through of all the new lines was great. And today you put that together with actually being on the ice. Acting and skating isn’t easy, but you’re all doing so well. Duncan, you just need to remember that it’sstalactitenotsatellite.”

A general snicker runs through them. At least they’re not laughing as loud as they were when he made three attempts at it earlier. It was enough to give the poor kid stage fright for life.

“We’ll need to clear more of the snow away from the entrances and exits onto the ice for the actual night so no one trips again.” She looks at the girl who Abigail told to get on with it.

“It’ll be dark soon.” Natalie glances at the dipping sun. “And we all need to go home to get ready for the pig lighting tonight.” The kids cheerand a few wave their arms in the air. Obviously, the pig lighting is a big deal.

“And judging from the line of cars parked over there, I think your rides are here,” Natalie says. “But before you go, give yourselves a well-earned round of applause.”

She starts it off and I join in.

“Okay,” Natalie says as the clapping fades, “off you go. And maybe I’ll see some of you at the festival.”

The kids in regular footwear trek off toward the cars, while those in skates head up to the bandstand where they left their shoes.

“Yo, Woodsy.” A group of guys, presumably parents of the kids, approach me from the direction of the parked cars. Oh, Jesus. My stomach churns at the prospect of more “tips” on how to improve my game.

“We were just saying how great your run through Philadelphia’s defense was last month,” the man in the red hat says.

The others nod. One says, “Yeah.” Another adds, “Solid.”

“And that goal against the Capitals”—one of the others makes a chef’s kiss—“fucking beauty, man. Fucking beauty.”

Another dad in a blue jacket nudges him and nods in agreement.

Well, these comments are all a pleasant surprise. “Thanks, guys,” I tell them. “I appreciate it.”

A handful of kids runs over to join us.

“Mr. Woods helped me with cornering today,” the messenger girl says.

The guy in the red hat puts his arm around her and pulls her to his side. “You have no idea how lucky you are getting skating advice from this man,” he tells her.

“All of you kids,” a man in an enormous puffer jacket points at them in turn, “whatever this guy tells you to do when it comes to skating, you do it. Okay?”

The children all nod and hiss a bunch of yesses.

“Means the world to us to have you working with our young ’uns on this,” the blue jacket guy says.

“All right,” a tall man at the back says to the kids, “let’s get you home and fed some real food before you stuff yourselves with gingerbread men and cocoa at the pig lighting.”

“Thanks, dude,” blue jacket man says and pats me on the shoulder before turning and following the gang back toward the cars.

Huh. Maybe all this being-involved stuff doesn’t suck as much as I’d thought it did.

Does that include the woman in the jeans, purple jacket and pink beanie?

Just look at her smiling at the kids, full of joy as she waves them off home with a cheery “See you at the festival!”

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