One of the kids in our old program came from a big family. He was one of five brothers. One of his brothers was an excellent hockey player, and the other three were a lot better than this individual. He was average, at best. He was a polite boy, but with an edge. I used to periodically assign clean-up tasks to the different teams. I did it to foster an appreciation of the rink and to build a sense of responsibility for the upkeep of the building. One such day, this kid came early and worked steadily. When we were done, I made a point of praising him for his effort. He gave me a kind of surprised look with an expression of something else that I couldn't understand. It could have been resentment. He's a grown man now, in his forties. Last season, I saw him reffing. Some officials didn't show up and he worked three games in a row while we were there. Don't know how many he'd done earlier, but he was still on the ice when we left. I found out that night that in a later game, he took a puck in the eye. He didn't lose the eye, but it was an iffey thing for a few weeks. I think fatigue might have been a factor in the injury. Last night, we attended a couple high school games. He was one of the officials. I would have liked to tell him that it took balls to get back on the ice. But, I didn't know how to say it. You never know how some people are going to react.