There was once a time when the dawn of a new year did not fill me with anxiety about what might happen in the next 12 months that might cause my functional reality to come crashing down. I really think some of my anxiety still stems from the beginning of 2015, when I felt like we didn't really have anything interesting on the horizon--no more kids, no huge kid milestones, no new houses or cars or jobs in the works--and then less than two weeks later I lost my job and everything was crazy for a few months. So, I guess anytime I find myself feeling a little too settled or comfortable--even though daily life is sort of exhausting--I get a little concerned that the universe has something up its sleeve. Who might we lose this year? What might go wrong? What will this year ultimately be known for in our family history? That stuff bugs me. It shouldn't, and I should probably talk to someone about anxiety like that, but that tends to be how I feel about the new year, pretty much every year. That probably also means we need more positive things in our lives to look forward to, like a big trip, but alas...not yet.
But once upon a time the new year was sort of exciting, and in fact January 3rd was one of my favorite days of the year for years. I know that sounds crazy, but let's just say it had a good run for a while.
January 3, 1989 - It was my first day back at school after Christmas break. I was in fifth grade and had a long-standing crush on a boy in my class (as in, since Kindergarten). During lunch that day, using my good friend as a mediator, the boy and I each shared our mutual affection for each other, and poof! That day I got my first "boyfriend". Back then, of course, that meant that we sat together at lunch and maybe tried to graze hands if we ended up next to each other during chapel every Wednesday, so it wasn't much of a thing. I think it lasted into sixth grade, though, in some form, before he dumped me for a new girl in our class (and later came crawling back). We were friends well into high school after the puppy love stage passed us by, but I always remembered the first day it became more.
January 3, 1992 - I was in eighth grade. The previous October I had begun my hockey obsession, courtesy of a good friend of mine, who was already a big fan. I had a good foundation, of course, since my parents had been huge hockey fans for years and it had always sort of "been around" as I was growing up. But my friend loved hockey and in particular, one Sabres player, Pierre Turgeon. Of course, two days after the obsession was official (thanks to a Sabres exhibition game against the US Olympic team that my mom took me to with her boss' tickets), Turgeon was traded and I was crushed. Fast-forward a few months, and his new team, the New York Islanders, were coming to Buffalo to play the Sabres. As fate would have it, that game ended up being discounted somehow--I'm pretty sure it was through some sort of church or school group--and my friend and I got to go! I have zero recollection about whose parents went with us or anything like that, but I do remember seeing Turgeon play--and promptly get hurt. But it was fun while it lasted and I think he might have even gotten interviewed during the intermission (and since we were up in the seats under the balcony, we had TVs to see it), so overall it was a good day.
January 3, 1993 - This one's been getting a lot of pub today because of the Bills' big playoff win on Sunday, but this was the day of the Bills' historic playoff comeback victory over the Houston Oilers. I still remember this one pretty vividly as we had traveled to the east side of Rochester to my parents' friends' house to watch the game. It was blacked out in Buffalo as it wasn't sold out, and the friends could get Syracuse TV stations, which were out of the blackout radius. Of course, the first half of the game we wondered why we even bothered, but the second half was unbelievable. They were down 28-3 at halftime, then 35-3, and that's when the magic began. With their backup quarterback at the helm and a number of key players sidelined due to injury, the Bills started to claw their way back. By the 4th quarter, they took the lead, though Houston tied it up late. The Bills won it on a field goal in OT, and the rest was history. It was incredible and made the trip (and watching that awful first half) worth it. And of course, the Bills were off to another Super Bowl after that...and yes, they lost...again. But that comeback was amazing nonetheless.
January 3, 1997 - By this point I was in college, home for my first real winter break. Earlier that fall, my still-favorite player, Pierre Turgeon, had been traded from the Montreal Canadiens to the St. Louis Blues. It was actually a pretty big bummer because I loved him being in Montreal, one of my favorite cities. One of my favorite things to do was to listen to their games in French on the radio (or watch them on my tiny B&W TV when the fuzzy French RDS station on the Ontario-Quebec border happened to have a game). It was good practice for my French speaking, and they're such an iconic team that it didn't feel too weird cheering for them. It was harder to catch his games once he went to St. Louis, and coverage in general was rare (remember, the internet was still in its infancy). Anyway, my mom had originally bought me tickets for a Buffalo-Montreal game that season (maybe for Christmas? I'm guessing I still would have been on break for it), but somehow managed to exchange them once he was traded for a very luckily placed St. Louis game on January 3. I found it pretty ironic that we were seeing Turgeon in for the first time with his new team five years to the day of the first time I did it, but I was so excited to go! I had grown pretty accustomed to going to a lot of games the previous couple years (thanks to my Uncle Bink getting free tickets all the time and giving them to his daughter (and my partner in crime), Kim. But being away at college had cramped that style a bit, and despite going to one last-minute the night I came home for break (randomly, with my brother, and we came out into a snowstorm!), I was more than ready for another game! If I recall correctly, we were in either the last or second-to-last row, so binoculars got a lot of use! It ended up in a tie.
Ok, so those are only four years out of a span of nine, but those odds aren't too bad, right? I think I had good reason to be a fan back then. I can't say that this date has been much of a good luck charm in the years since, but for some reason it still sticks in my memory as a great date. Oh, to be young again and innocently wonder what fabulous things the year will bring...
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