For my Dad

My father, Ray Girouard, passed away on October 8, 2010, at the age of 81. The following is an excerpt from the eulogy that my sister and I presented at his memorial service, which took place on October 11.

Dad had us all on skates with varying degrees of success by the time we were three, and I tried to follow in his footsteps by signing up for hockey as soon as I was old enough.

I wasn't nearly as talented as my dad, but I tried my best and, unlike some parents, he never yelled anything but encouragement to me.

One night we had a game at the Masson arena and for some reason there was no referee available. My dad happened to have his skates in the car, so somebody gave him a whistle and he went out and did his best just so we could have a game.

After that he started calling games regularly and before long he was refereeing for kids of all ages in the Aylmer house leagues.

Just like now, the referees got no respect and no thanks from the parents, the kids or the coaches. A woman once wrote in to the Aylmer Reporter to complain about the quality of officiating in minor hockey. My dad wrote back a blistering letter defending the dedication and sacrifices of the referees with whom he worked - all of them volunteers.

He pointed out that he had even broken his wrist while refereeing a game. "It was very painful," he wrote. He concluded by challenging the writer, if she thought she could do better, to come and give it a try.

Dad I never said this to you during my brief minor hockey career, so I'll say it now: "Hey ref! Thanks for the game!"

If refereeing was all he did for me and all the kids who wanted to play hockey in Aylmer it would have been plenty. But he did more than that.

When I first started playing hockey there was no indoor arena in Aylmer, so we played our games in Shawville, a good hour's drive away. My dad would get up every Saturday at five A.M., no matter what the weather, to drive me to Shawville for my games.

Sometimes he would pick up a kid or two on the way and make sure they got to the game. Years later, when I was in my early 30's, I ran into one of my old teammates at a party. He told me how his family had been going through a rough time during that period of his life and how much it meant to him that my dad would pick him up and drive him to Shawville with us. He said that my dad was like a second father to
him.

I quit playing hockey when I was 13. I finally realized I just wasn't very good. When I was 30 I started playing again with a bunch of friends. It was just dark shirts against white shirts and nobody really kept score. During the summer my dad and his friend Claude came out and played with us one night and finally, after all those years, I actually scored my first and only hat trick.

I know the guys were feeding me the puck all night on purpose, but I still like to think that on that Wednesday night at the Tom Brown arena, I finally made him proud.