While most kids were crawling around at home playing with blocks or watching “Dora the Explorer,” I was sitting in Row K, Section 221.
At just two months old, I was going to my very first hockey game at Van Andel Arena — home of the Grand Rapids Griffins, the American Hockey League affiliate of the Detroit Red Wings. My dad was with me, carrying me in his lap.
Though it may seem like a very odd place for an infant to be, it made complete sense in my family. My dad has been a season-ticket holder since before the arena even opened in 1996. After seeing the announcement of a team coming to the city in the newspaper, he called to make sure a seat in that arena would be his every week. He knew he wanted to be there from day one, and he made sure that our family would have a place at Van Andel.
The hockey atmosphere became my world very quickly. When I was born, one of the first things my dad asked the doctor was, “How long do we have to wait until I can bring her to a game?” The pediatrician told him that two months was safe enough for me to be in a loud arena. And from that point on, I was at the arena every chance I got. It became the place where I spent my childhood — and a second home.
What started as my dad’s excitement as a former player and fan of the game eventually became so much more. After some time following his hometown team, he met a writer with a website covering the Red Wings. My dad worked with him to learn how to cover the Griffins as a hobby. This inspired my dad to later launch his own website to exclusively cover the Griffins. He dedicated so much of his time to it, building a strong archive of information on every player to come through the team and covering every game. And while his coverage isn’t as intense now as it was previously, he still keeps up with it every season.
My dad became deeply involved with the team and the hockey community. Beyond writing, he was also a photographer, which granted him opportunities to shoot at training camps and practices every year. At home, I’d watch him edit the photos on his computer and print them out for autograph sessions. Hearing the players chat and comment on his work was always one of my favorite parts of our time at the rink.
I remember being young and looking up to my dad and the opportunities he had created for himself. I loved watching him bring a paper formatted with lots of different sections for note-taking during the game, such as places to talk about goals, interesting plays and aspects of the game like face-offs or physicality. He would sit there with his paper and his pen, completely locked in and scratching down a shorthand phrase to reference later. I would look over at his paper, try to decode what he was writing and ask millions of questions.
Just being a part of some behind-the-scenes action was exciting and really inspired me. It showed me that sports could be more than just something you watch — that there was space to create and share with others, even when you’re not a player.
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As I grew older, I found my own hobbies outside of hockey, though I still loved watching the Griffins on weekends. Instead of playing hockey myself, I gravitated toward dance. I started at age four, and it quickly became my life — a world pretty far removed from the rink. Even though it wasn’t a traditional sport and my dad knew nothing about it, he supported me completely.
Whether it was taking me to every practice, watching every recital or running around at every competition, he never made it feel like he wished I was running around on a field or skating around a rink. He was always there in the audience, cheering for me just as much as he did at hockey games.
Through it all, there was one thing we always shared — watching the Griffins. When I was two, I’d throw a tantrum over weekday games until my dad caved and brought me. By high school, I was asking him if my friends could tag along for the weekend. I always found myself back at Van Andel Arena, and I see myself coming back for as long as the team is there.
When it came time for me to move to college, it hit me that I would no longer be able to attend almost every game. Leaving Grand Rapids and the seat next to my dad was tough. But, even away, my love for hockey that stemmed from my bond with my dad prevailed, and as soon as they became available, I purchased Michigan hockey season tickets. I coerced my friends to do the same and made them into my buddies at Yost Ice Arena. I brought that same energy to college with me, refusing to let my connection to the sport fade just because I was in a different city. And, even in a new place, my relationship with both my dad and hockey, along with the lessons it carried, held strong.
When you follow something closely, you often make friends with others who follow the same thing. That happened quickly for my dad as he met other season-ticket holders who sat around him at all the games. Those friends eventually became family whom we would look forward to seeing every weekend. We built friendships that went past the barn walls of Van Andel Arena, sharing the highs and lows of every single season. It’s not just people coming together to watch a game and talk about players — it’s real relationships. We’d make plans to get together in the offseason, and the other season-ticket members around me even surprised me with cake on my birthday.
Following in the footsteps of my dad, I built strong connections in Yost. Hockey creates tight-knit friendships where you are able to spend time with the same people every game, which led me to one of my best friends. I made lots of friends, but for me, there is a special bond that comes from sitting together at these games.
Just like how I used to ask my dad why the ref blew the whistle after a player on the other team’s zone shot the puck to the other end of the ice, I explained to my friends the rule of icing as they asked me the same question at the University of Michigan. Yost had that same familiar feeling that Section 221 had, because hockey brings people together no matter where you are.
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During my time in college, I have tried many new things, but nothing really stuck at first. It wasn’t until coming back to school from a spring break filled with watching the Griffins with my dad that I considered starting something new. Watching my dad all these years inspired me to give writing a try. I had loved writing as a kid, but never did more than personal writing and journaling or writing essays for school.
My dad’s passion rubbed off on me, which is why I wanted to join The Michigan Daily. I went into it with minimal knowledge of sports or journalism, just my love of hockey. But on a random Sunday in March of this year, I dropped in on a meeting in the newsroom and took off from there.
The first thing I did as I walked home from my first meeting was call my dad and tell him that I was trying out sports writing. He was so excited to see me step into a world he had been a part of and loved for so long. After every article I wrote, I would call him on my walk back to my dorm from 420 Maynard St. to get tips and just talk about the writing process. Those walks home became routine, listening to his advice and sharing my excitement with him.
I began regularly covering games for women’s lacrosse after picking up a game from the story list, and instantly clicked with the sport. It was completely new to me, but it felt familiar in a way. I took the perspective I already learned from watching my dad and applied it to lacrosse. I looked at the field the way I looked at the ice, tracking the plays and understanding the momentum of the game through the lens he had given me.
As I got deeper into covering lacrosse, those phone calls started to shift. Though he knew nothing about this new sport — just as he once knew nothing about dance — we still chatted for hours. I’d tell him about the aspects of the game I enjoyed, the stories I learned about the players and how many similarities it actually shared with hockey. It was during those conversations that I realized what started as trying to follow in his footsteps had become my own thing — made possible by the unwavering encouragement he provided all my life.
Showing up so often to watch such talented players come through, many on their way to the NHL or even some winning Stanley Cups, I saw what it meant to dedicate yourself to a sport. By bringing me to all those games starting at just two months old, my dad helped foster my love for sports. And as I watched him write for the team for so many years, I found the space and appreciation to start working in sports journalism as well. I was able to build off of what I learned from him to pave my own way.
While in unfamiliar territory — both geographically and metaphorically — I knew I could always lean on my dad for advice and support. That’s what dads are for. They are role models meant to give you advice and offer support and guidance. But they are also there to encourage you to go further than they could and to make something of your own.
Statement Contributor Mackenzie Kasiorek can be reached at kmacke@umich.edu.
