I broke my five year old’s heart on Valentine’s Day.  I didn’t mean to do it, and didn’t think that the news I shared with him would devastate him so.  It started innocently enough.  He cuddled into bed with me this morning, as he does most days.  We just lay there for a few minutes, when he started to get restless.  I knew the question was coming, as it always does on the day after. 

“Who won last night?”

I hesitated, and he thought that meant that Ottawa had. I had to tell him that they had lost to the Penguins.  He was OK with it, even though they are his sister’s new favourite team. He turned and went to leave, but I got his attention again. “There is some bad news. Erik Karlsson got hurt last night, and it was pretty bad.  He is not going to play for a while, maybe not until next season.”

He turned away again, and I thought he was OK.  Then the sniffling started, followed by the sobs.  Why, why did this happen.  Karlsson is Daddy’s favourite player, Woo’s second favourite.  He is tickled that he gets to wear number 65 on his hockey team, and he is often Karlsson when he plays hockey in the basement.  He was crushed.

I tried to comfort him, and he pulled away, not listening.  He got up and stomped off, presumably to give his sister a piece of his mind.  The Penguins are her favourite team after all.   It’s the same way that I would have reacted at age five if one of the Montreal Canadiens best players had been seriously injured.  Heart broken.