One of my most precious memories

A father helping his son get dressed for hockey (this is a random picture from the internet, not me and my Dad. I'm not sure if we have any images of the two of us together at the rink)

I feel like I have a certain memory, and chasing that feeling is something that has me running all over the place. 

Really, it's just my various memories of playing youth hockey, and my Dad taking me to the rink and helping me put my gear on and helping me tie my skates.

I played ice hockey in elementary school and middle school. When I was in seventh grade I broke my collarbone playing football after school with friends and after that I decided to quit hockey. I'm not sure why exactly.

But I have very precious memories from playing hockey in those years.

I remember having a very early morning game at the Rockville Ice Rink. My game was on the outdoor rink -- Rink 3 -- and the locker room my team was assigned to was one of the outdoor locker rooms. It was very cold that morning - probably below freezing. I can imagine the fog created by our breath in the locker room.

I remember tugging on the laces of my skates to get them tight. As I was tying my skates, I noticed blood on my laces. Between the cold air, my dry skin, and the tension between my knuckles and my skin as I tugged my laces tight, my skin cracked, and little drops of blood emerged on my knuckles and trickled onto my laces.

I was only six or maybe eight, but I immediately thought it seemed pretty cool and hardcore. And then I remember my Dad reacting negatively, and quickly understanding that he did not find it cool at all. He found it gross and possibly concerning. 

I don't know if I specifically showed him the blood or just remembered that he was averse to seeing blood and was always unhappy when I came home with some kind of scrape on my knee, which would often happen from playing at recess.

To me, as a kid, having little scrapes and scabs was always a sign that I had been having fun, but my Dad never saw things that way. He would get mad at me and tell me that I should be more careful.

I'm not sure why I'm writing some of this down.

I think some of these experiences playing youth hockey are some of my most precious memories from childhood. Feeling brave and strong, and feeling my Dad's pride in me being me. Like I was doing something challenging but people appreciated me for it.

I think that's something I'm looking for in a job but can't find. I understand that work is challenging but I want it to be something that people appreciate me for. But I can't find it.

I do activism for Palestine but people in my family don't really want to hear about that so much, since the family is quite Zionist. People are polite enough to refrain from criticizing me, but I don't get anything like the "hell yeah, son" or "hell yeah, boy" that I might get from a hockey coach, or teammate. Or something to the effect of: what you're doing is fucking hard, but we appreciate you so much for doing it. You're the best.

I feel like people are just kind of indifferent to what I'm doing. They want me to find a job that I don't hate, be able to pay my bills, and stop bothering them. Which in a way feels kind of crappy. 

Maybe some of these things are memories from childhood that I can just appreciate as memories, and not be so intent on re-creating through activism, labor organizing, or finding a job in the building trades (no one is hiring in San Francisco and I don't want to wake up that early, if no one is going to appreciate it except for some rude, obnoxious boss).