Anna plays ice hockey
“I can’t believe I am letting my son play on the same team with that girl.” “Which one is your son?” “Hit her! She doesn’t belong here!” “Go make me a sandwich.” There were more things said to me from the stands during my time playing hockey, but these are some of my favorites. I enjoyed it, though; I knew none of these people could do what I do, so why would I listen to them?
I remember shooting pucks at my brother in my driveway until my neighbors showed up and we would close my street to have a big neighborhood game of hockey. I guess that is where it all started. Hockey has been in my family as far back as I can remember—my dad played from when he was a kid until his 20’s, and my brother played from when he was 12 years old until he was 16. My dad thought that hockey life would end when my brother stopped playing, but little did he know that the hockey life had just started.
I started playing deck hockey over the summer when I was 12 years old. When I was 13, I started to play on my brother's roller hockey team because my dad was the coach. Although the team was a family affair, that didn’t mean anything; I don’t remember being anywhere but the bench most games (it’s okay, I forgive him now).
During that roller hockey season, I went to ice hockey clinics with a bunch of younger kids. And I’ll be honest, as the only 13-year-old girl there, I was a showstopper—not because of my skill, but because I was the only girl. This is where one of my favorite coaches and mentors scouted me out; his name is Dante Cozzi. He talked to my dad, and he set me on the road to success. Dante guided me in everything: what stick I needed, what league I should start on, the skates I needed, who to stay away from and who to stick with. I went to many of his camps when I was 15-16 years old alongside boys I went to high school with. Those were lonely times—no one told me that the other kids wouldn’t talk to the only girl.
I was set to try out for the girls’ team when I was about 15 years old. When I tried out, the coach wanted me to play on their practice team—in my parents’ eyes, this wasn’t worth it; all the money spent just for their daughter to be unable to play in any game? Not worth it.
Over that period of time, I was playing for my high school team and in a co-ed recreational league, but the only co-ed aspect was me, as there were no other girls. And, oh boy, was that an experience. I had to leave various games because my coaches thought it was unsafe for me to be on the ice and it was “highly advised” by the referees that it was best for me to sit out. This was terrible, because there was nothing I could do about it. And they were right; every time I went out, I would get the puck in my possession then get rocked into the boards or the cold hard ice.
A year passed and I felt that I was good enough to make the girls team; and I was, but not good enough for the coach. Her words were something like: I remember when you tried out for us a couple of years ago, you got really good, but we don’t want you because you didn’t want us last time.
Ouch. That hurt harder than all the checks I was hit with. I turned those words into my motivation for the next four years, and I continued to play and never gave up. I was dealt so many difficulties throughout those years: players on my team threatening me, opposing teams continually checking me, referees yelling at me for fighting back, getting dressed in a storage closet, and parents telling me that I shouldn’t be playing with their sons. No matter what I went through, I kept pushing because I loved the sport so much.
All throughout my journey I became an inspiration to some of my teammates’ little sisters, to my friends, and, most importantly, to myself. I met amazing people who cheered and supported me. I never gave up—I kept doing what I loved, and I wouldn’t change any of it for the world.