My dad had this thing - everyone in Canada wants to play hockey;

“My dad had this thing — everyone in Canada wants to play hockey; that's all they want to do. So when I was a kid, whenever we skated my dad would not let us on the ice without hockey sticks, because of this insane fear we would become figure skaters!” — Norm MacDonald.

Thus spoke Norm MacDonald, the philosopher of laughter cloaked in the garments of a comedian, revealing in jest a truth that stretches far beyond ice and sport. Behind his humor lies the eternal dance between expectation and individuality, between the culture that shapes us and the spirit that seeks its own path. His father, like many parents of his generation, was guided by tradition — by the belief that a son must follow the customs of his land. In Canada, where frozen ponds are sacred altars and hockey the nation’s hymn, to dream of any other destiny might have seemed, to him, a kind of rebellion. And yet, within Norm’s gentle irony is a glimmer of freedom — the understanding that even love can sometimes carry the chains of fear.

The origin of this quote lies in Norm MacDonald’s reflection on his youth, a story he often told not merely for laughter but as a mirror to the human condition. His father, a practical man from an older time, believed that identity was best preserved by conformity — that one belonged to a tribe, a tradition, a way of life. To him, hockey was not merely a game, but a rite of passage — the proving ground of manhood, courage, and belonging. To skate without a stick, to glide for beauty rather than battle, was to risk softness in a world that prized toughness. And so, out of love and fear, he would not let his sons step onto the ice unarmed. But in this small act of protection, there lingers the ancient tension between the freedom of the child and the fears of the father.

The ancients, too, spoke of this tension. In the tale of Daedalus and Icarus, the father built wings for his son, yet warned him not to fly too high. Love sought to protect, but fear sought to limit. The father’s wisdom, born of experience, was shadowed by caution — while the son’s desire for flight was fueled by wonder. So it has always been: the parent, forged by a world of hardship, tries to shield the child from risk, while the child, born of dreams, seeks to discover life for himself. Norm’s story, though wrapped in humor, is a reflection of this timeless struggle — the struggle between heritage and individuality, between what we inherit and what we must dare to become.

Yet, within the humor of his father’s “insane fear,” there is also tenderness — the kind of love that seeks to protect even at the cost of freedom. The old man’s fear of figure skating was not hatred, but a symbol of his time — a generation that equated strength with survival. To him, hockey represented unity, masculinity, and national pride; figure skating seemed fragile, uncertain, unmanly. But the world has since learned that grace, too, is a form of strength — that courage takes many shapes, not all of them loud or violent. Thus, in laughing at his father’s fear, Norm invites us not to judge, but to understand — to see how even love, when ruled by fear, can become a kind of comedy.

Consider the story of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, whose father, Leopold, was both mentor and master. He trained his son with relentless discipline, determined that he become the perfect musician, the reflection of his own unrealized dreams. But in the process, the young Mozart had to break free — to create music that was not his father’s, but his own. From that painful separation came beauty that reshaped the world. So too, Norm’s story whispers a universal truth: that every soul must step, one day, onto the ice of life without the stick of expectation, to discover what kind of skater they truly are.

The lesson is clear and eternal: Love your roots, but do not be ruled by them. The traditions of your fathers may be noble, but they are not your destiny. To live fully, you must honor where you come from while daring to skate beyond it. If your elders hand you a stick, take it — but also learn when to set it down. For greatness is born not from imitation, but from authenticity. The world needs both warriors and artists, both those who fight and those who glide, both those who build and those who dream.

So let this teaching be remembered: Do not fear the figure skater within. In the humor of Norm MacDonald’s tale lies the sacred balance between love and freedom — between the past that shapes you and the future that awaits your courage. Laugh with tenderness at the fears of those who came before, for they, too, were once bound by their own ice. And when you take to your own rink, whether armed with a stick or with open hands, skate boldly. For to live authentically — whether in hockey, art, or life — is to honor both your father’s dream and your own awakening.