The Rink and the Not-So-Great Flood

The PVC pipe rolled away, the tarp flattened, and a few hundred gallons of water began flowing toward the boy and I, our hands drenched, freezing, desperately trying to hold back the flood.

“Fuck!” I cursed out loud.

Failure. The big, dumb project had failed.

Have you ever had an idea that got stuck in your craw and you just had to get it out? That’s exactly how I found myself trying to build a backyard ice rink.

I’d thought about it for years, and would often Google cost for kits that are sold to do such a thing, like E-Z Ice. But those kits are expensive with mixed reviews. And we do not have extra cash for such a folly.

But this fall, with the second surge of the pandemic bearing down and a few cold months being trapped in our house on the horizon, I decided to make it happen.

After a bit of research, I found there were basically two approaches for the DIY rink: Wood boards and braces, or PVC pipe. The key being that if you go for the PVC pipe, you better make sure you have a flat, level area, because you only have a few inches to play with to get the thickness of ice needed for safe skating.

The first step, before deciding materials was finding the right area. With the biggest tape measure I own, I went into the yard and found a 20-foot by 30-foot rectangle that seemed fairly flat and level. PVC it was.

I swung by Lowes and Home Depot to price out PVC parts, figuring I’d need 10 sections of 10 foot 4-inch PVC pipe, along with 4 corners and 6 other connectors. I’d also need a tarp. The pipe and connectors priced out to be about $160. But neither store had the right tarp.

Thank goodness for the internet. A 24x36 tarp would set me back $125.

So, I spoke to the wife, who kind of shrugged, and said go for it. The next day, I dragged the boy (10) to the big-box stores and purchased the pipe. (I got the PVC at Lowes and the corners at the Depot to save a few bucks). The boy went happily, as this was for him after all -- (and his 12-yr-old sister -- as a replacement for the hockey they’d played in recent non-covid years. I also figure we’d all need a reason to get outside this winter.

The tarp was ordered that afternoon, opting for white – which was the right call – and 2-day delivery.

When it arrived, we began the construction, and it was the easiest darn thing I ever built. Of course, it still needed water. Which is important.

The temps we’re predicted to drop below freezing in the coming days, so we got the hose and started filling. This would be the moment of truth. Would the pipes hold? Would the tarp leak? Would the area be level enough?  I’m a worrier by nature, so of course, the hours filling were spent pacing and tinkering.

After a few hours of the hose running, we had four inches on one end, and nary a drop in the other. Not knowing a darn thin about what the future would hold, I was concerned that, if I decided to just let the shallow end be thin and be avoided for the winter, we’d certainly see a skate go though it and rip the tarp, spoiling the entire rink.

So, I decided to raise the pipe on the deep end, forcing the water to cover the entire area.

The boy and I jammed a few pieces of chopped wood under the corners – their shape creating a ramp that, with outward pressure on the pipes, would push them higher. I figured that seemed smart. Then I got some extra paving stones and went to put them under the long parts of the pipe, so the entire side was even.

I lifted the pipe and tucked in the paver.

That’s when the great breach happened.

The pressure from the building water had found a weak point when I was adjusting the pipe height, and boom, leaving the boy and I befuddled as the water rush past us, chilling our fingers instantly.   

I sat back on my knees and collected my thoughts.

“Stay calm.” I instructed.

And I grabbed the edge of the tarp and stood up straight. It wasn’t as heavy as I expected. “Hold this,” I said. The boy dutifully took the tarp’s edge. While I gathered the PVC pipe that had rolled away, and secured it again with a rubber mallet, this time as an inch of water sopped my shoes and the ground around us.

Pipe reattached, and securely placed on the pavers and wood, he let the tarp go, and the water again rushed toward the high end.

This time, the PVC wall held. About half of the water had spilled out into the yard. But, within minutes, it had absorbed into the thirsty ground.

Knowing what failure looked like, I began cautiously filling the rink again, while the boy worked to remove the leaves. 

By that evening, we had at least 3 inches of water throughout the rink. The pipes held. That tarp didn’t leak. And, after a few cold nights, we had skateable ice.

Now, we spend time most days skating and playing small hockey games.

The boy loves it. Though not nearly as much as my wife.

I also discovered a whole world of people who build rinks in their yard each winter. The Backyard Ice Rinks group on Facebook has 23,000 members. Apparently, mine was not such a novel idea. And some of these rinks are impressive – like full size hockey rinks.

Ours is a little small. But we enjoy it.

Though, next year, we’ll likely build a bigger one.

Watching Your Kids Fall Down

Down he fell again, this time landing on his back. I could practically feel the rock-hard ice reverberate through his little body. Pads or not, that one had to hurt.

He hesitated, worrying me that he was actually injured this time. Then he rolled over, scrambled to his feet, regained his balance, and skated on — certain to crash land again in the moments ahead.

It was a cool November morning during his first hockey practice when I realized my son didn’t know how to skate.

We’d gone skating before as a family over the years, a few times at the outdoor rink downtown and once or twice on a pond near our house. But not often enough for my 3rd grader to feel truly comfortable on the ice. And it was showing.

Thud.

He fell again, likely the 50th time he’d hit the ice in the first half hour. Each time, I watched him, waiting for the tears to come, for him to skate off the ice — or crawl or crash — and announce that he was done with hockey.

He’s wanted to play hockey for years, bugging me to let him each year when I get obsessed with how deep into the NHL playoffs my team will go. This past year, my team won it all, and we watched every game we could. After they hoisted the Stanley Cup, he made his mom and me promise we’d sign him up for hockey in the fall.

So, we did. We just forgot to teach him to skate first.

One of the things I’ve always struggled with as a parent is watching my kids fail. What parent doesn’t want to protect them from some of the pain and disappointment life has for all of us?

I distinctly remember the feeling I had when I got cut from a travel soccer team in fourth grade. I was devastated. I don’t want my kids to go through that kind of rejection.

The boy, while not on his rear at hockey practice

As a parent, I often prepare my kids for potential setbacks, saying things before soccer tryouts like, there are so many kids that I’m sure lots of good players are going to get cut. Or telling them before play auditions that even getting a call back is something to be proud of.

That’s how I prepared my high schooler for her audition for this year’s school musical. Last year, she didn’t make it – as most freshman don’t. So, this year I prepared her for any potential disappointment.

“There’s so many talented kids, dear.”

And;

“All you can do is give it your best.”

Along with a few;

“No matter what happens, we love you.”

I was surprised when she expressed frustration with my attitude on the matter. She liked that it was hard to make the musical and just wanted me to believe in her.

I've begun to realize, I’ve been so worried about preparing my kids for failure, that I’ve been undermining their confidence.

It seems a strange thing to admit in an age when most parents do a disservice by filling their kids with too much confidence, convincing them they’re the best at everything, when they’re just average. And sending them out into a world that is going to level them with reality in the years ahead.

That’s a mistake in itself.

Parents can make that one even worse by further protecting their kids from that eventual leveling by stacking the deck in their favor. That’s become clear recently, as we’ve seen wealthy parents across the country who have been so concerned about protecting their offspring from life’s disappointment that they’ve spent thousands of dollars and resorted to cheating so they can get into the college of their choice.

What those parents did was wrong.

But I understand the instinct. Believe me, I do.

That morning in November, I wanted to run out onto the ice – or skate, or something – and pick my son up and give him the biggest hug I could.

And, if I could’ve figured out a way, I probably would’ve made sure all the kids who tried out this year made the high school musical, just to spare them all, and most importantly my daughter, from the potential pain. But I didn’t.

I suffered as they struggled, and I worried as they worried.

In so doing, I’ve come to realize there is a balance to be had. Kids need confidence, for sure. But they also need to know the hard work it takes to get better at things, whether it’s hockey, or soccer, or singing, or school. And they need to know it’s going to take a lot of hard work on their part to reduce the number of disappointments in their future.


If I didn't know this already, it became obvious watching my kids face their challenges.

In the months before the musical auditions, my daughter put in the hard work. She worked on her singing, and she spent hours in dance classes improving her skills and even learning a whole new dance style.

And, guess what. She made the musical. She even had a speaking role and was a part of a few big dance scenes, including the tap dance number. Who knew she could tap? I was so proud of her. To top it off, the show was amazing.

As for my son, after that first day of practice, the one where he fell countless times, he skated over to me waiting by the boards and exclaimed, “I love hockey!”

Then he looked at me, and said, "I got better. Didn't I, dad?"

Boy, did he.

Now he’s been playing a few months, and he’s improved so much. He rarely falls, and he's even been scoring goals.

I’m the first one to admit I don’t have this parenting thing figured out. But, I’ve certainly arrived at the conclusion that a bit of failure and disappointment doesn’t hurt kids all that much.

In the long run, it might even help.

Despite my instinct to protect them from even the smallest failures, I probably knew this all along.

After I got cut from that soccer team, I tried again. The next time, I made the team. Then I continued to play the sport through high school.

While I never forgot the pain of being cut that year, it made any success I had later that much better.

So, as hard as it is, let your kids fall down. And then watch them get back up.

You'll both be better for it. 

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