I basically grew up in a hockey rink. My younger brother has been playing hockey since he was around five-years-old, and because we are close in age, I was dragged along. It was annoying at first, but it is an experience that I am extremely grateful for.

It gave me friends. I bonded with the other hockey sisters since we were all about the same age and our parents were friends. And since our brothers still play together to this day, we continue to be friends. They're the friends that I've had the longest and known the longest, and getting together whenever we have the same breaks from school is always a breath of fresh air.

It gave me knowledge. I quickly learned the game of hockey from watching countless Learn to Play sessions and games over the twelve years that my brother has played hockey. And I absolutely love the game. My grandparents have season tickets for the Blues, and I quickly became a Blues fan, falling in love with not just watching my brother, but watching the game itself. I began to love the game so much, that I'm majoring in sports communications, hoping to get a job with a hockey team someday. This game is what I love, and I know I would not be happy doing any other job.

It gave me pride. My brother and I used to fight all the time when we were younger, and still do occasionally today. I never let go the time he sat on me, making me almost black out because I couldn't breathe. But the first time I saw him on the ice of a professional rink when he was a Mite, scrimmaging with his own team during the first intermission of a Blues game, I cried. "That's my brother!" I shouted, pointing to my parents' friends, their sons awkwardly skating around the ice just like mine was. I have always been my brother's biggest fan, cheering him on at as many games as I could. I was put in charge of the goal jar, going around to all of the parents who would donate one dollar every time someone from our team scored. My friends and I made signs during the playoffs to cheer on our brothers. And I brag all the time that my brother was one of only two freshman on the varsity hockey team his freshman year of high school.

It made me tough. Being the minority, I was always forced to play with the boys when I was younger. I got used to being pushed and shoved down while playing knee hockey, bossed around by the boys because they thought they were better than me, and running around hotels with them during tournaments and getting yelled at by the staff. I learned to take no shit from anyone. Those boys toughened me up into the strong woman that I am today.

It gave me a family. I grew up with every single one of those boys, and they feel like my own brothers. Their parents are also my parents, and some of the best times I've had are when they all come over, our moms wine drunk and giggly and our dads drinking beer and playing bags in the back yard with endless amounts of food. We've taken vacations with them, lake trips with them, and one mom even bandaged my foot and took care of me when I sliced it open playing soccer with the boys outside the rink. I've had sleepovers in hotels on tournament trips with the other sisters on the team, laughing long into the night about silly middle school things like which boys we liked and how we would prank the team the next day. These people are my family, and without them, my life would be entirely different.

Without this sport, I would be entirely different.