Stick Girl

In the last couple of weeks, I have seen more than a handful of bloggers answer the question "Why did I start my blog?" Some writers have a profound reason, often struggling with a loss or something painful in life. Some are just around to make us laugh, and still others are just there, reposting pictures and articles, but nonetheless entertaining.

I started TexaGermaNadian over two years ago. We had just moved to Germany, and it seemed like a good way to record my account of this weird hockey world. I posted sporadically (yes, the movie Clueless taught me that word) and it dealt mostly with pictures and short stories about our day to day life. But I really couldn't have handled much more than that, if that makes sense and doesn't make me look like a total slacker.

I needed that first year to really adjust to life over in Germany and our new life as husband and wife. I mean, let's not make it easy on ourselves or anything. The joys and stress of getting married, moving to foreign country where neither of us spoke the language, learning this style of life crash course style. Not always an easy one looking back on it. 

Now, three years in, I still feel like a foreigner, and think I always will. But things are waaay easier with each passing minute. We just know how things work, or don't work at times. We are much better at just going with the flow, and much much better at German. 

So, I guess I don't really have a solid reason for starting the blog up again. I think I just felt the need to tell a bit of our story and our wacky German encounters. It really is more for me if for anyone. I know I will enjoying looking back on the blog in 10 years and remembering what it was like living over in Europe. And its not totally boring...right?! (crickets)

So, I can at least share with you the story of how I was just destined to be tortured involved with hockey my whole life. 

When I was about 9 or 10 years old, roller blades were about the best thing around. In-lines were so cool, if you didn't own a pair, you pretty much didn't exist in my neighborhood's book. We would have skating races, time ourselves weaving through obstacle courses and we practiced and practiced the lamest tricks ever. It's not even fair to call them tricks, anyone can turn in circles. And yes, us southern babes even play street hockey.

Like we even knew the rules of hockey, I am pretty sure none of us had ever seen a game. But we were from Texas, not Canada. We knew about the Quarterback Sneak and Play Action, not Icing and High Sticking. But it didn't matter, we had a passion for street hockey. We'd race home from school and strap on our in-lines and hit the pavement. Oh, and elbow pads and helmets were for suckas, yo.

And the best part of it, is that we used our neighbor's dad's golf clubs as hockey sticks. Yeah, he really loved that! Nothing could stop us, we just loved to skate around and whack the puck around like fools.

That is, until this spoiled brat got a nice set of real, wooden hockey sticks. Like freakin' Christmas! Now there was nothing stopping our hockey skills. And word of our 'real' equipment spread fast. Soon enough, the older boys (like maybe 11 or 12 years old, tops) that lived on the next street over were coming by to play hockey with us. Did I care that they were using me for my hockey sticks? Nope. I was ten, and loved that these super cool older boys were coming to hang out with me. 

 Yeah, I bet you were excited too, girl!

Source

That is, until a couple of weeks later. I guess we didn't go outside that day to play street hockey. I can't remember why exactly, but I do remember those dreamy older boys knocking on our front door that afternoon. My mom answered the door and I peeked down from the upstairs loft. I remember thinking, "oh man, they came to MY house to see if I could play!" Swoon.

It wasn't until they opened their mouth that my dream was shattered. "Hi, can, um, um, Stick Girl come out and play???". Stick girl, STICK girl. They didn't even know my name. I was just stick girl. Big let down. 

I didn't go out to play that day, and if we did play hockey again, it was just with my friends who weren't - at least blatantly - using me for my sweet hockey equipment (say that last bit with a lisp to get the real effect of just how cool we were).

And of course that story gained even more significance after I met the hubs. Funny how certain things stick out in your memory like that. But, it makes perfect since now. He is my stick boy, and I am his stick girl. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

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