Hockey Stick

I have a hockey stick I never use any more.
It sits in my room near the corner, tucked in so it aligns perfectly with the wall.
It's blade points out like it's reaching for something that's not there. Like it's searching for some invisible puck.
I remember the day when I used to play hockey with my dad. We never played on ice because I couldn't skate. Always on the ground in either the spring, summer or fall. We always played on the grass because it hurt less if I fell.
We only had one net that he would let me shoot on every time. I never got a goal that he didn't let in.
As the seasons passed and we both got older, we played less and less.
Now I'm living on my own, meeting my dad for supper that he pays for, talking about how my job search is going. Moving into an apartment on a whim. Making my own mistakes and falling down without the grass under me. The hockey stick stays there waiting for me to play with my own kids.