My eight year old Scottsdale, Arizona grandson is a hockey nut. He loves the Arizona Coyotes of the NHL. Anyone who can faithfully watch that pitiful team every night has to be a hockey freak.
Since I'm his grandfather all my readers and the entire world know we guys sacrifice anything to make their lives a perpetual Candyland. I.e., I open up the wallet whenever and wherever to spoil them rotten.
My grandson really, really, really, really wanted to attend an upscale hockey camp this summer. The downside was it was very expensive, so expensive my daughter told them there wasn't the cash available to attend. "Not a problem", said I, and off went the check.
My daughter checked in with me after the first day of camp. I asked her how it went. Her son told her it was brutal. "Well", I said, "He'll just have to toughen up". I was then informed it wasn't the physicality of the camp.
All of the instructors are natives of Canada. The lad came home after the first day and told his mom. "I don't know if I can do this. I don't speak Canadian".
Things have gotten much better now that the lad has picked up some of the lingo, eh.
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