tion>Shabash!
Shabash!
by Ann Walsh
Copyright © 1994 by Ann Walsh
Second Edition 2008
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.
Editor: Guy Ch’adsey
Production Editor: Antonia Banyard
Cover Art and Design: Barbara Munzar
Printer: Webcom
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Walsh, Ann, 1942-
Shabash! / by Ann Walsh.
ISBN 978-1-55002-829-4
I.Tide.
PS8595.A585S5 2008 jC813’.54 C2008-901090-6
1 2 3 4 5 12 11 10 09 08
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and The Association for the Export of Canadian Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit program, and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.
Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.
J. Kirk Howard, President
Printed and bound in Canada.
Printed on recycled paper.
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For so many reasons
this book is for
my father.
Acknowledgements
Many members of the Sikh community of Williams Lake offered me help and encouragement with this book and it could not have been written without their guidance and support. I learned a great deal from them, from how to make roti to how to put on a turban, although I am not terribly successful at either endeavour. Nor would the hockey scenes have been possible without much help from teachers, coaches and my nephew Anthony Varesi, all of whom answered my questions patiently and offered advice. Guy Chadsey at Beach Holme Publishers believed strongly enough in my story to accept it in its initial stage and guide me through the revision and editing process and Antonia Banyard took my panicky calls and made sure the missing pages were found. I would also like to thank the Ministry of Small Business, Tourism and Culture for their financial support. Thank you to everyone. I hope the finished book lives up to the faith and trust you placed in me.
1
They didn’t know what to say to me at the minor hockey registration booth in the mall. It was Friday night, and the line-up of kids and parents waiting to sign up stretched past the fronts of three stores. I waited half an hour before I got to the head of the line where two ladies were taking registration.
“Yes?” said one of them. She was very fat and didn’t even look up as she spoke, just kept on shuffling papers.
“I want to join minor hockey.”
“That’s what we’re here for. What division?”
“Division?” What was she talking about? I don’t know much about hockey in general and even less about minor hockey, but I’d learned how to skate last year and I thought that playing on a hockey team would be fun.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m eleven, but I’ve never played hockey before.”
She looked up at me and stared.” “Oh!” she said, her mouth falling open so far I could see the wad of gum she had tucked away in there. Then she nudged the lady beside her until she looked up from her paperwork and both of them sat there staring at me.
“I can skate though,” I said, wondering why they were staring like that. There must be other kids as old as me who have never played minor hockey, even though lots of them start when they’re much younger.
The two ladies didn’t answer, just stared some more.
“And I’ve got the money right here,” I said, trying to hurry things up. I could tell that people behind me were getting restless, waiting for me to finish so they could have their turn to sign up.
“Um….” said the fat lady.
“I know how much it costs. I saw it in the paper,” I began fishing in my jacket pocket for my money.
“Um, I….” the first lady said again.
“But…” said the other one.
“Hurry it up, can’t you?” said someone behind me in the line. “We don’t have all night. Get on with it.”
The two ladies looked at each other, then back at me. “Do you think we should?” said the big one.
“I guess so,” said the other one, shrugging her shoulders. “Give him the forms, Sharon. I’ll go and phone a coach.”
“Do you really think we should?” asked the Sharon lady, again.
“Sure. Just don’t take his money until I get hold of Coach Bryson.” Then she turned to me and smiled. “Sorry for the hold-up,” she said. “We have to check a few things out with the coach.” She got up and rushed off, looking worried.
Mrs. Sharon pushed some papers across the table. “Take these and go over there and fill them out,” she said. “Then come back.”
I was annoyed at the thought of having to spend all that time in the line-up again. It seemed to me that the other kids had filled out their forms right at the table. Well, maybe they had picked them up earlier and had already done all that paper work, so all they had to do was pay their money. I’d never done this before, so I didn’t know what the routine was.
I went over to the Orange Oasis and got a small malt. Then I sat down on a bench and went to work.
The
