Erik’s First Blades at The Depot

He was four, cheeks red and bright,
Wrapped in wonder, holding tight.
Downtown twinkled, soft and slow,
As winter wrapped The Depot’s glow.

New hockey skates, so tiny, proud,
Laced by mom as he laughed out loud.
Dad checked the fit, tugged each lace—
A quiet grin on mom’s sweet face.

The rink ahead like a frozen dream,
A glowing stage beneath the beams.
We each took one small mittened hand,
And led Erik out across the land.

His feet slid wide, unsure and wild,
But he just beamed—our fearless child.
He stumbled once, then once again,
But giggled loud through every bend.

We guided slow, step after slide,
Then let him try a solo glide.
He moved like light, a little blur,
All bundled up in coats and fur.

One lap became two, then maybe four,
Each pass a memory we’d adore.
He turned to wave, all full of pride—
Our hearts could barely hold the tide.

Beneath the dome, with music sweet,
Tiny blades danced on clumsy feet.
And we stood still, hands held tight,
Two proud souls in soft rink light.

That night we watched our Erik soar,
On skates that barely scraped the floor.
A little boy, with dreams so wide—
And mom and dad, right by his side.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.