Stephen is tugging frantically at Brad’s jacket. The tears are rolling down his red cheeks underneath the mask of his helmet. It’s clear this six-year-old isn’t faking just to get attention. It’s also clear there’s no bathroom in sight.

This tiny patch of virgin ice is in the middle of a field in an industrial area just north of the city. When the hockey bosses wax eloquent about the beauty of unstructured outdoor hockey, this isn’t what they have in mind.

In the summer, this ice is just a big puddle of water in a construction zone. Its size and shape change according to the amount of rain that falls and the work of the big land-movers that roam through here. When you live in an urban area in Southern Ontario you feel lucky to use any bit of outdoor ice, even if it comes in an ever-expanding industrial zone. This particular patch is at least 100 metres from the road, reachable only by trekking through frozen dirt and knee-high weeds.

“Now, coach. I have pee now.”

Brad looks at the ice where 10 other kids are in a frenzy chasing a puck. Once he finished tying their skates he wanted to get them organized, but this crisis needs settling first.

“There’s no bathroom out here, Stephen. If you really have to go, you’re just going to have to do it out here.”

“But coach, it’s cold out here. It’ll freeze.”

Brad laughs. “I know it’s cold but don’t worry, it won’t freeze.” Once again he takes off his gloves and kneels down. His fingers are almost numb and the knees of his pants are wet. Where are all those concerned and involved parents when he needs them? “I’ll help you take off your pants, but let’s do this quickly so you’ll be OK.”

Every muscle in his body clenched, the kid’s hopping from foot to foot. His hockey gloves are on the ground and his fingers are red. He looks frozen. Brad unfastens the belt that holds up the boy’s hockey pants. He surveys the horizon and prays no one’s looking in his direction. He can imagine what this looks like from a distance. Stephen’s pants fall to his ankles, making it impossible for him to move.

“I’ll carry you over there but you’re going to have to do the rest. I’ll stand behind you so nobody can see.”

Brad puts his hands under the boy’s arms and swings him a few metres away from the ice. He stands and waits. Nothing. He waits a little longer. Stephen hasn’t moved.

“Stephen, you can pee now. No one can see.”

“I’m trying coach, but nothing will come out.” The boy starts to sob. Brad doesn’t know what to do. He has three kids of his own, two boys, and he’s never had this problem. The idea for this session was to let the boys skate on natural ice and have some fun. Gretzky and Lafleur keep talking about the joys of playing shinny in the great outdoors. At the moment, Brad’s wondering what, exactly, is so great about this.

“Here’s what I want you to do. Take a couple of deep breaths at the same time as I do. Ready, breathe. Ready, breathe. Just relax. Forget about where we are.” Brad realizes he must be doing something right because the tension that has been gathering in his own shoulders has lessened. He realizes that Stephen has stopped sobbing and has started peeing. Brad can hear it hitting the frozen ground.

“Coach, are you going to let me play forward next game?” Brad shakes his head. He’s always surprised at how quickly these kids go from one topic to another. “Next game you can play forward, but I want you to practise as a forward before we play a game. Now let’s get you on the ice.”

Brad swings Stephen around, pulls his hockey pants up and fastens the belt. The pants are wet and so are the skates. Stephen doesn’t seem to notice. Brad grabs a handful of snow and rubs it on the pants to cover up the dark stains; he doesn’t want the other kids to see.

“Now get out there and have some fun.”

Stephen stumbles onto the ice and falls. When he gets up snow sticks to his pants. It looks silly, but Stephen doesn’t mind. He immediately goes after the puck. The panic of the last few minutes is forgotten.

The kids have divided themselves into two groups. The pylons Brad traditionally uses for his skating drills are now goalposts. Two of the forwards are in goal and the defencemen are chasing the puck.

Brad surveys the ice and sees that it’s in much worse shape than he expected. It’s 15 metres long at best and not quite that wide. In the middle, right where centre ice should be, is a patch of weeds on an earthen knoll; tufts of grass stick through the ice. It may be natural but it’s far from ideal.

He notices that a couple of the boys have taken off their skates and have their boots on. Their skates are in a pile over on the side along with some discarded scarves. There are bits of weed scattered about the ice, which explains why Stephen fell.

He blows his whistle and walks towards the boys. Instead of gathering around, the kids head off the ice. Brad wants to know what’s up, and the boys aren’t afraid to tell him.

“This ice sucks and it’s too cold. We want to go home.” His first reaction is to protest, but he quickly realizes it’s a losing battle. The boys in boots are already picking their way through the weeds to get to the road. The others have plunked themselves down and are trying to untie their skates.