I want my son to feel Canadian even though we live in Korea. So I took up hockey at 40

The robin goodfellow sailed away the inch of my sting and connected with the bottom of the inning of the crossbar, making a satisfying ping as it entered the top of the net. In the small space of our hockey team's basement shooting centre, the sound was both deafening and immensely gratifying.

As I removed my gloves and racked my stick, a teammate asked if I had played hockey before. She was seated with other members of Team Arena at the back of the tiny room in Gangneung, South Korea, all waiting for their time to practise their shots on the faux-ice panelling. 

Not exactly, I explained, or at least, never on the ice. But growing up just outside Toronto, I had played road hockey as a kid, usually with the other kids in our neighbourhood. It was just something to do to help kill time between coming home from school and dinnertime. Nothing serious. And I was certainly never any good at it, but perhaps that explains my lucky shot. 

She nodded thoughtfully, and despite my somewhat limited Korean, she seemed to understand.

So why was I starting this fast-paced game at just over 40?

I moved to Korea 13 years ago. As an expat, my sense of feeling Canadian had faded naturally over time. But when my son was born in late 2024, I was looking for ways in which I could connect him to his Canadian roots. 

Since my wife is Korean and our family lives an ocean and a continent away from where I grew up, it slowly dawned on me that it was my responsibility to make that connection. 

It was this realization that made me deeply miss living back home in Canada. I wouldn't let my son feel this same cultural void.

Some time later, as I was watching some Leafs highlights on YouTube, unbeknownst to me my son had toddled into our living room and was staring, mouth agape, at the blue and white jerseys flying across the ice. He beamed at me and as his little fists pumped in the air, the answer became obvious. Canada’s game. Hockey. 

The problem was that we lived in a country with very little hockey culture. That, and my lack of experience with the game. 

As a child, I had a rare disease that left me with depleted endurance until I was around 10. While my parents hesitantly allowed me to play soccer, more aggressive sports were largely out of the question. I was a curious kid and enjoyed a lot of other hobbies, so not being able to play aside from the odd road hockey game never really fazed me.

As an adult, however, and with a mixed-culture child, involvement in our national game had become an almost existential proposition. 

Fortunately, I lived in one of the host cities of the 2018 Pyeongchang Olympics. Less than a five-minute drive from our house was an internationally recognized hockey arena. A small stroke of luck.

So, in late October 2025, I decided to test my dormant skating skills at a small rink down the street. The handful of lessons I had taken as a kid had apparently paid off, and following a month of successful practice time, I felt somewhat confident that I wouldn’t make a total fool of myself in front of the roughly 40 members of Team Arena who were expertly gliding across the ice at my first practice. 

Even then, I was terrified. Thankfully, I saw a group of nervous-looking players huddled behind one of the nets and it confirmed I wasn’t the only rookie.

As the coaches put us through the drills, my lack of skill became more apparent as I kept falling on my butt. But I pushed past my embarrassment by imagining my son dressed in his tiny Auston Matthews jersey, shouting “HAUGH HAUGH” (toddler-ese for hockey). 

I kept telling myself that maybe in a few years and several dozen games under my belt later, I could teach my boy how to skate and stick handle, and most importantly, what it means to be Canadian.

Despite the bumps and bruises, I soldiered on. 

Over the next few weeks, I ditched rentals and slowly pieced together my equipment. I bought some things online and others by taking long train rides into Seoul, where some of the only hockey shops in the country are. My stick was purchased in Florida by a friend who had gone home to visit family over the winter break. Gradually, I started to look the part of a hockey player, and as time went on, my skills slowly improved.

Now, several months into my hockey playing journey, I’m even starting to get a few accepting nods from my new teammates during our practice games. Oh, the glory. 

Playing hockey in my 40s has allowed me to make new friends, practise my second language and stay in shape all while doing something I’ve grown to really love. 

Slowly, I’m relearning what it means to be Canadian, in part by playing this incredible game. While I know that strapping on a pair of skates and hitting the ice is only a part of that equation, it’s helped me to think more deeply about what parts of our culture I want to share with my son.

While I’m out at the rink, practising this oh-so Canadian game in South Korea, in the back of my mind I’m picturing my son with his little head bobbling around in the full-sized helmet he’s just pulled out of my hockey bag. I imagine him smiling ear to ear, eager to play and, at least for now, wanting to be just like his dad. I’m happy that this experience has allowed our family to feel that much more Canadian.

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Freelance contributor

Graham Nichols is a writer and English language educator who lives in South Korea.

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