For the last four years, I’ve worn the badge of “hockey dad.” Two of my boys are in the game, one playing U15 and the other U11. When they first laced up their skates, I thought I knew what this world would look like. I grew up with the game. I played, I cheered, I lived the highs and lows that hockey brings. But what I see today is something different, something that has changed, and I am not sure it is for the better.
Hockey isn’t the same as when I was playing. Back then, it felt pure. It was about the rink, the friendships, the long drives to tournaments, and the practices and the game itself. Coaches skated us when we needed to, praised us when it was deserving, and taught us about discipline and hard work. Not one of us missed a practice because it was too early, too cold, or we were too tired. Sometimes, I would wake my parents extra early out of fear being late or getting lost to 7 am game or practice.
Now, it feels like hockey is less about hockey, and more about where your kid stacks up on the ladder.
It’s no longer, “Did you play hard? Did you love the game tonight?” It’s, “What level are you at? What team did you make? Are you AAA, AA, or single letters A,B, or C?”
The conversations in the stands don’t linger on the beauty of a perfect pass or a hard-fought shift, they orbit around status, rankings, and labels that children as young as ten are already carrying on their shoulders.
But let me be clear: I’m not writing this to brag about my boys or to highlight what level they’re at. That’s not what matters to me. What matters is what the game has given them.
For the most part, most kids will play single letters. Those with more natural talent might reach double letters. The ones who are willing to put in extra effort may find themselves in triple letters. And then there are the few—the obsessed, the disciplined, the ones who work hard on and off the ice, balancing time in the rink and gym with schoolwork. They’re the ones who might, just might, have a chance to push higher: junior leagues, college hockey, or beyond. The pathway is narrow, and the sacrifices are real.
Moving Up (and Down) Levels
One of the hardest truths for parents to accept is that moving from one level to another, up or down, isn’t about luck, politics, or who you know. It comes down to hard work and dedication. A player will not improve by skating one hour a week at practice. Improvement is built on repetition, discipline, and sacrifice.
My 15 years old summer, and let me be clear, his choice was this:
* Extra ice time: skating drills 2-3 mornings a week at 7 am for 2 hours. He was working on edges, speed, and balance.
* Strength & conditioning: two hours in the gym at night, building the power and stamina needed to compete shift after shift.
* Recovery: stretching, rolling out sore muscles, getting proper sleep. Taking care of the body every day so it can keep performing.
* Nutrition: choosing food that fuels performance, not just fills the stomach.
* Skills at home: shooting hundreds of pucks in the driveway, stickhandling in the basement, turning free moments into extra training.
That’s the level of commitment it takes to move up, and even then there are no guarantees. But what is guaranteed is that without that effort, progressing to the next level will not happen. Kids who commit to this lifestyle may climb; kids who don’t will likely stay where they are—or move down.
The Rink That Changed
I’m in an arena almost every night, and some weekends it’s two or three. The rink used to be a place where I could watch my kids, relax, and enjoy seeing them grow. But over time, it has turned toxic, especially during tryouts and the selection process. Oddly enough, I expected the most tension around the higher levels like AAA, but instead, I’ve seen it come out strongest in the single letters.
Parents turning on fellow parents. Rude and damaging comments whispered or sometimes shouted about other kids because of where evaluators placed them. The quiet (or not-so-quiet) belief simmering beneath it all: How could that kid possibly be better than mine?
And this is where parents need to take a hard look in the mirror. Parents must put their children ahead of their own pride. We need to remember that a kid is just a kid and they hear everything. Imagine the damage done to a child when they overhear adults criticizing them, or worse, tearing down their peers. What’s meant as idle venting in the stands can leave scars that last far beyond a single season.
So, What Can Be Done?
If we want to shift the culture back to where it belongs, on the kids, we need change at the association level:
* Better communication: Associations should clearly explain how the tryout and selection process works, so parents aren’t left in the dark.
* Transparency in evaluation: Provide a rubric that outlines what players are being judged on, skating, positioning, teamwork, effort, so kids and parents alike understand what matters.
* Leadership presence: Association leaders, whether professional staff or volunteers, should be visible in the stands. Walking around the rink, answering questions, and shutting down idle chatter before it turns toxic.
* Clarity for players: Kids deserve to know what coaches and evaluators are looking for. Honest feedback not only helps them improve, it also builds trust in the process.
These are simple steps, but they could change the entire atmosphere. Instead of rumors and resentment, there could be clarity and respect. Instead of bitterness in the stands, there could be encouragement for every child who dares to step on the ice.
Why We Keep Coming Back
Hockey has taught my U15 son resilience. He’s learned that nothing is handed to you, you earn every shift, every opportunity. It’s given him the confidence to push himself further than he thought possible, both on and off the ice. My U11 son has discovered joy in the game itself: the friendships, the laughter in the locker room, the thrill of chasing the puck with everything he’s got. For both of them, hockey has become a classroom, teaching lessons about teamwork, discipline, humility, and heart.
And that’s why, despite everything, we keep coming back.
At the end of the day, hockey is more than titles, letters, or rankings. It’s about that first stride onto fresh ice, the wind rushing across your face, the cold air filling your lungs. It’s about the sound of steel carving into ice, the echo of a puck ringing off the boards, the thud of gloves in a celebratory high five. It’s the laughter in the locker room, the quiet pride of pulling off your jersey after giving it everything, and the feeling of belonging to something bigger than yourself.
Hockey, at its best, is freedom. It’s joy. It’s childhood. And it should always, always belong to the kids.
Author: Geremy Miller