~* I don't own these characters, Disney does. But since I wasted all my money to buy Anaheim Mighty Ducks stuff and they lost, I figured Disney owes me. So they'll get over it.*~
Nobody ever told Gordon Bombay what was wrong with her father, all anyone ever said to him was "He's sick Gordy and he needs his rest." It was obvious to the little boy his dad was sick, the paleness of his skin and the dark circles under eyes were a dead give away. But he didn't know what sickness was invading his father's once strong body, eating at him bit by bit. No one had the heart to tell him the man he'd idolized for ten years was dying. Not a single soul could bring themselves to telling him that when he played for the championship game of the Hawks, Mr. Bombay wouldn't be there. They tried to shelter him from the truth, pretending the malady that took the luster out of Arnold Bombay's eyes would one day vanish on it's own.
Gordon didn't get to spend as much time with his father toward the end as he would've liked, but he did spend as much as was allowed. Arnold Bombay's biggest thrills in those days were hearing his son's hockey stories. And after every game Gordon couldn't wait to share the play by play with him. The boy would practically fly home for that reason alone. Mrs. Bombay would arrange a tray for the boy to bring to his dad and the two would eat together. They could talk for hours about everything and nothing all at once. Often times they'd play rummy until well past Gordon's bedtime and his father would talk his wife into giving them just a few more precious minutes.
Then one day Gordon came home from a game with tears streaming down his face. He hadn't scored a single goal that day. He knew his father loved their afternoon talks just as much as he did, but he was certain he'd be disappointed to know his son hadn't done anything special during the game. With slumped shoulders he made his way up the stairs to his father's room, timidly knocking on the door. That was something uncharacteristic, he never knocked before he went into his dad's room, he was normally so excited he would burst through the door a ball of energy.
"Hey Gordy, how'd you do today son?" Arnold patted a place on the bed.
Gordon bit his lip as he made his way to his father, and sat down.
"I didn't score at all daddy. I'm really sorry, but they had me covered really good. Every-time I got the puck, they knocked me down."
His father nodded.
"Well that's not too good is it?"
"You're not mad at me are you dad, because I tried my hardest, I really did."
"Son as long as you did your best, that's all I can ask for. It's never been about how many goals you score for me. I just love seeing the light in your eyes and the smile on your face when you tell me about it, even more when I use to be able to see it in person. But Gordy, some of the best times I've ever had were just watching you skate on the pond. You look so free and happy, that's all I want for you."
"Really?" The boy looked up at him with hopeful eyes.
"Of course. Now come here."
Gordon climbed across the bed and into his father's waiting arms. Arnold turned the TV on with the remote and the two settled down to watch I love Lucy. They fell asleep together, with Gordon resting his head on his dad's shoulder, it was a picture perfect moment in time. But when the sun rose the next day and Gordy woke, his father failed to even stir. It was evident to the boy that the man had slipped away peacefully in the night. While the thought of laying with a corpse would have driven most ten year olds to the verge of dementia, Gordon only slunk off the bed and ran to fetch his mother. He knew his father was in a better place and that no matter what his dad loved him.
The funeral had been unimaginably hard on the young boy however. He'd been strong the three days prior to the service, but when the realization hit that, that was in fact the end, he could hardly bare it. At just ten years old his life had lost all meaning, Gordon wanted to be thrown into the ground with the casket. Even hockey was losing it's appeal, he only continued to play as a way to honor his father, but his lust for existence faded. On the day he lost the peewee championship his thirst for life utterly disappeared and he drowned his pain in anything he could find. The most severe of all being alcohol when he was older.
That alcohol however brought something back to him he'd lost years before, his life. When he received the community service, Gordon, now a hot shot lawyer thought for sure there was nothing worse then coaching peewee hockey. One night however an old friend would remind him of his father and how much his dad had loved just to watch him skate. And he realized something then, if his father had been such a hero to him, why couldn't he repay the favor, by being one to his team? And he did.
Nobody ever told Gordon Bombay what was wrong with her father, all anyone ever said to him was "He's sick Gordy and he needs his rest." It was obvious to the little boy his dad was sick, the paleness of his skin and the dark circles under eyes were a dead give away. But he didn't know what sickness was invading his father's once strong body, eating at him bit by bit. No one had the heart to tell him the man he'd idolized for ten years was dying. Not a single soul could bring themselves to telling him that when he played for the championship game of the Hawks, Mr. Bombay wouldn't be there. They tried to shelter him from the truth, pretending the malady that took the luster out of Arnold Bombay's eyes would one day vanish on it's own.
Gordon didn't get to spend as much time with his father toward the end as he would've liked, but he did spend as much as was allowed. Arnold Bombay's biggest thrills in those days were hearing his son's hockey stories. And after every game Gordon couldn't wait to share the play by play with him. The boy would practically fly home for that reason alone. Mrs. Bombay would arrange a tray for the boy to bring to his dad and the two would eat together. They could talk for hours about everything and nothing all at once. Often times they'd play rummy until well past Gordon's bedtime and his father would talk his wife into giving them just a few more precious minutes.
Then one day Gordon came home from a game with tears streaming down his face. He hadn't scored a single goal that day. He knew his father loved their afternoon talks just as much as he did, but he was certain he'd be disappointed to know his son hadn't done anything special during the game. With slumped shoulders he made his way up the stairs to his father's room, timidly knocking on the door. That was something uncharacteristic, he never knocked before he went into his dad's room, he was normally so excited he would burst through the door a ball of energy.
"Hey Gordy, how'd you do today son?" Arnold patted a place on the bed.
Gordon bit his lip as he made his way to his father, and sat down.
"I didn't score at all daddy. I'm really sorry, but they had me covered really good. Every-time I got the puck, they knocked me down."
His father nodded.
"Well that's not too good is it?"
"You're not mad at me are you dad, because I tried my hardest, I really did."
"Son as long as you did your best, that's all I can ask for. It's never been about how many goals you score for me. I just love seeing the light in your eyes and the smile on your face when you tell me about it, even more when I use to be able to see it in person. But Gordy, some of the best times I've ever had were just watching you skate on the pond. You look so free and happy, that's all I want for you."
"Really?" The boy looked up at him with hopeful eyes.
"Of course. Now come here."
Gordon climbed across the bed and into his father's waiting arms. Arnold turned the TV on with the remote and the two settled down to watch I love Lucy. They fell asleep together, with Gordon resting his head on his dad's shoulder, it was a picture perfect moment in time. But when the sun rose the next day and Gordy woke, his father failed to even stir. It was evident to the boy that the man had slipped away peacefully in the night. While the thought of laying with a corpse would have driven most ten year olds to the verge of dementia, Gordon only slunk off the bed and ran to fetch his mother. He knew his father was in a better place and that no matter what his dad loved him.
The funeral had been unimaginably hard on the young boy however. He'd been strong the three days prior to the service, but when the realization hit that, that was in fact the end, he could hardly bare it. At just ten years old his life had lost all meaning, Gordon wanted to be thrown into the ground with the casket. Even hockey was losing it's appeal, he only continued to play as a way to honor his father, but his lust for existence faded. On the day he lost the peewee championship his thirst for life utterly disappeared and he drowned his pain in anything he could find. The most severe of all being alcohol when he was older.
That alcohol however brought something back to him he'd lost years before, his life. When he received the community service, Gordon, now a hot shot lawyer thought for sure there was nothing worse then coaching peewee hockey. One night however an old friend would remind him of his father and how much his dad had loved just to watch him skate. And he realized something then, if his father had been such a hero to him, why couldn't he repay the favor, by being one to his team? And he did.