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There's a set of photos that live in David Hollander's wallet, yellowed and creased from being folded and unfolded. However, the pictures are as clear as the memory.
Shane Hollander, aged 8, who had been selected for their local minor league team, had been told to submit his jersey number choices. They had the kids select their 3 top choices, and why they wanted them, in the name of equality or something.
Regardless, 2 weeks later a package arrived at the door with his name on it, the first time he'd ever received a package addressed to him. Needless to say he was ecstatic, energetically pulling his dad into the kitchen to watch him unbox it. The whole family gathered around the kitchen table, with Yuna holding her video camera and pointing it with as steady hands as she could manage at their son. She knew why Shane was so excited to show his dad his jersey but Shane had told her to keep it a secret from his dad so he could surprise him with it. She didn't dare tell David. They had pinkie-promised to keep it between them, after all.
With small hands and short nails, Shane picked at the tape holding the cardboard together, saying nothing but sporting his currently gap-toothed smile. Eventually, and with multiple instances of Shane refusing help from both of his parents, he got the box open. His smile was faltering ever so slightly as he tried his best to keep his cool, and there were tears gathering in his little eyes as he pulled the jersey up, showing the back to his dad.
'Hollander, 24'.
"Look, Dad! It's yours!"
David's hand came up to cover his mouth instinctively, tears welling in his eyes immediately. He never thought he'd see that number printed again, on such a small shirt, held by even littler hands. Shane climbed off of the kitchen chair he'd been balancing on to go and hug his dad, the jersey pressed between them, and that was when Yuna ended the recording. She quickly took a photo instead.
David's hand reached out to Yuna across the table and she took it, letting herself be led around the table to join the hug, sandwiching their son between them. Yuna kissed Shane's hair, turning him around to face her so she could wipe the few tears that fell down his freckled cheeks.
"Go on," Yuna prompted, "Try it on."
Shane nodded ferociously, in that overly serious way that kids do sometimes when they mimic their parents. He pulled it on over his other shirt, stepping back to let his mom adjust it on his shoulders like she always did.
"Wow..." David chimed in, ruffling Shane's hair, "You suit it better than I ever did, little man."
"Really?" His eyes widened in awe.
"Yeah, kid." He bit back the floods of tears that would have never stopped if he started and schooled it into a very shaky smile.
David couldn't tell whether that made Shane want to smile or cry more by the multitude of emotions that crossed his face, contorting it this way and that. Either way, the kid was overwhelmed with something, but he seemed in high spirits.
"Alright, come stand over here," Yuna gestured for Shane to stand by the wall of family photos, where in the midst of frames was an in-action shot of David in university, turning back over his shoulder to smile at the camera at his then girlfriend, now wife. "Okay, honey. Stand tall."
Shane took this as he took most things, that being literally. He stood with his shoulders back, chin upwards as if that would make him taller, smiling wide.
"Okay, now turn around, show us the number, sweetheart."
"Ok!"
"Good job, you look great!"
That caused Shane to turn back slightly, smiling at his mom, unintentionally mirroring the picture of his dad that hung above his head. She managed to catch a photo of it too, a little blurry around the edges of Shane's hair, but the toothy smile on his face was all that mattered there.
"Am I done now?"
Yuna nodded, kneeling in front of Shane, thumb brushing his cheek, "Go test it out, make sure it fits okay."
Shane nodded again in that very serious manner, running past them both to the living room, where he clearly had the most space to move around and test the jersey properly. Watching him pass, David walked over to Yuna's side, emotions still high but settled enough to speak. He wrapped an arm around his wife's waist, pulling her close to his side as she rested her head on his shoulder.
David's voice was extremely genuine as he spoke, "Did you tell him to do this?"
The smile on Yuna's face came through clearly in her words, "No, not at all. That was all Shane's idea."
That made his heart grow three sizes in his chest, even if the manifestation of his heart was running around in his new jersey, testing out his movement. It wasn't the most hockey-like looking tests, but it seemed to be working for Shane, since his focused little face seemed to be calculating and moving and pausing to calculate again.
"God, we got so lucky."
She let out a shaky breath, hand clutching over her heart, "We did. We really did."
Now, 20 years later, David watches that same bright boy coaching kids about the same age as he was when he started - looking on at them from the sidelines with the same proud expression that David has sported for the last two decades. Kids chatter at his feet during breaks about how they're going to pick his number when they go professional. Shane huffs out a laugh at the idea, but he can see the same prickle of a tear in the corner of his eye and tight pull of his smile.
The only thing that seems to make the kids waiver on it is knowing they couldn't play on the same team as Shane if they did - and that makes them reconsider. They then mutually decide between all 6 of them that they'd go for all of the consecutive numbers on either side of 24- so they would all be around him all the time. The chattering turns from conspiratorial to joyous, as they all pick what number they'd have, everyone fighting for 23 and 25 since they're the closest to Shane's number. Happy to listen to them, Shane leans on his stick as he picks his water bottle from the sidelines, his heart tightening as he catches his dad's eye from across the rink. David nods to him in understanding. That's what breaks the careful expression on his son's face - the realisation of just how important this was to his dad now hitting in a new way for his son. He bites it back semi-successfully, playing it into exaggerated reactions at the kids' arguments.
Spotting the change in expression from across the rink, Ilya skated over, purposely 'splashing' them with a messy stop, flicking ice on their legs. The kids shriek and giggle, telling Ilya off to Shane. Ilya pays them no mind, meeting Shane's eye for a moment to raise a brow. 'Do you need to leave?' Shane shakes his head in response, a small smile on his face. 'No, I'm all good.'
At that, Ilya's attention turns to the children, who have quickly retreated back to their previous argument - since numbers had not been settled at all. "But what about Coach Ilya's number? No one likes me anymore, huh?"
A chorus of 'No!'s erupt from the children, and David looks down to brush his thumb over the photo one last time before he heads back to the café where parents of the kids, friends of Shane and Ilya, and Yuna were all having lunch.
A thought floated through his mind as he walked away, wiping the stray tear from his eye and tucking his wallet back in his coat pocket. 'The kids are going to be alright. They're in safe hands.'