Impact - The Ice In Your Veins(Dave Maze) Life happens so fast. We seldom stop to think about how our actions affect other people. We don’t realize that doing or saying something that’s minor to us has the ability to change someone’s life forever. One should always think about the impact that can be made on this world and the people in it and not be afraid to leave their mark, even in unexpected places.

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Jeffrey stared down at the thick blue line under the ice. He had never worn skates before and his feet bent inwards like the sides of a tent. Most adults skating for their first time might attempt it with trepidation, but children have this magical ability to go for broke. Slowly, Jeffrey’s left skate scraped the ice, leaving a lightly chiseled line behind it. His right quickly followed. Elation filled his heart as his left began to slide again. He felt as if all the kids around him were tuned in, watching in amazement. Maybe Jeffrey felt the pressure. Unexpectedly, he fell with a thud. His bottom absorbed the unforgiving, icy surface under him. He pouted, but got back up. This time he took four strides before falling. Looking around, he saw that nobody was watching him; except his dad. Tears began to rain down his dark cheeks as his father came gliding towards him.
“It’s okay, Jeffrey. Where does it hurt?”
“My bum,” he said, with pain in his words. His hand grabbed at the pain while his father smiled.
“It’s-not-funny!” he sniffed, his breath emanating like fog around his head.
“I know it’s not. It's kind of cute, though.” He extended his arm out. “Here, let’s get you up to try again.”
Jeffrey clenched his jaw, his face turning sour like he was sucking on a lemon.
“Oh come on, Jeff. You have to try again. Otherwise, you’ll never know how good you can be.”
Jeffrey’s arms stiffened across his chest. He looked away.
“Are you worried you might fall again?”
Hesitant brown eyes spoke for him.
“It’s okay. Daddy will stand closer this time. Would that help?”
Jeffrey’s arms loosened their hold on his dad. The worry dissipated from his face as his father helped him up.
“You can do it,” he lifted his son’s chin. “You see that logo on your jacket?” Bruce pointed to the Maple Leafs logo, Jeffrey’s head titled down. “Do you think any of the Maple Leafs ever fell their first time on the ice?” Jeffrey shook his head. “And do you think they ever fell again?”
“Yes,” he said wiping his runny nose with a grey glove.
“Right. The reason why they made it to the NHL is because they didn’t give up. You can be like them, if you try.”
Jeffrey’s vacant stare turned into a sharp focus.
“And because we are black, more people will be against you being a hockey player. They may laugh at you. Tell you to go try basketball or something. You know what you say to them?” Jeffrey waited. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“That’s right, you let your success speak for you. Show them how good you truly are.”
Jeffrey stared down at his skates. Suddenly, he felt the tent shape begin to straighten out, strong, like the walls of a house. He looked up to his father, then straight ahead to the boards on the other side. A Tim Horton’s ad placed beneath the sheet of plastic. Bruce watched as his boy glided smoothly across the rink, reaching the other side without a spill.

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Jim Hughson’s voice spoke from the gondola. “Back in Pyeongchang for what is sure to be an epic Gold Medal overtime between these two powerhouses.”
“Yes, and as we know, this isn’t the first time Canada and the US went to overtime for the gold. Let us not forget 8 years ago in Vancouver,” Craig Simpson followed.
“The Golden Goal,” Jim added. “So, how did we get here?”
“Well, there’s certainly been no shortage of solid goaltending, both keepers standing on their helmets.”
“Yes, Price and Quick have been sharp tonight.”
“But it’s been the success story of Canada’s youngest player, centre Jeff Shields. He’s had a monster game with a goal and two assists. None bigger than setting Crosby up for the one-timer with less then 10 seconds left to draw even at twos.”
“And what more can be said about this kid? Ya know, Craig, PK Subban was the pioneer, but Jeff has really piqued the African Americans interest in the sport of hockey. Especially in and around the Toronto area.”
“Kind of like basketball’s Anthony Bennet or Andrew Wiggins.”
“Precisely. And here come the players...”

Surrounded by red jerseys, Jeff stood in the narrow corridor that led onto the ice. His eyes were shut in a moment of deep focus. When he opened them, he stared down at his skates. His legs were sturdier than they had ever been, but he remembered the tent skates like it was yesterday. Someone tapped him on the shoulder.
“Jeff.” He turned around. PK Subban motioned forward. The players in front of Shields were gone. “Let's go, man. We got this.”
Jeff moved into the arena wide spotlight, staring up into the stands as he took to the glossy, wet ice. His dad stood proudly, nodding his confidence.
“Let your success speak for you. Show them how good you truly are.”
Jeff leaked a smile that quickly turned into a look of determination. He pulled his visor down and headed to his destiny.

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