Karel Vejmelka

I’m in my childhood bedroom in Třebíč, small town in the middle of Czech republic. Lying on my bed, getting ready to sleep. Once again, my eyes are running over the posters on the doors and walls.

Jonathan Quick. Henrik Lundqvist. Tomáš Vokoun. Marc-André Fleury.

I know their poses by heart after all these years. But after all these years, I’m no longer the little boy who was dreaming about getting to their level; dreaming about being in the same competition as my goalie role models.

I’m back with my parents for the summer after my first season out of Czechia. My first season with the Arizona Coyotes. My first season in the NHL.

I’m looking at the posters just as I did when I was a kid, yet in a different way. When I close my eyes, I no longer dream about standing on the opposing side of the rink from my idols. Instead, I recall how it feels because this dream of mine is now a reality. I played against Quick in my first win in the league. We defeated Fleury while he played for Chicago and Minnesota.

I was always aware of whom I was facing in those games. I focused hard to perform well, but I also allowed the feeling of simple joy to fill my head. I watched the action in front of me through the eyes of a young kid looking at posters before bedtime.

This moment is what I had imagined ever since I constructed my first blocker from a wooden plank with holes that I tied together with shoelaces. I always wondered what it would be like to face the Washington Capitals power play and that cross-ice pass to my right side where Alex Ovechkin was waiting to hammer a shot at me.

Then it became a reality. I'm in the net against Washington. I’m checking Ovechkin with my peripheral vision, moving with the pass and I have to deal with his hard shot. At the same time, I can’t help but smile under my mask.

I have to smile. This is really happening. It's happening to me. It's no longer a dream. It's reality. When I wake up in the morning at my parents' house, it will be a part of my memories, and those memories will continue.

As important as it is for me to move my body in time to stop Alex Ovechkin’s shot, it used to be my grandma’s attempts that I took seriously.

She used to sit on the couch in the living room and watch TV, but I’d never leave her alone until she threw a tennis ball at me now and then. The door became my net, my cap became my glove. And I’d never let any of grandma’s attempts get through.

Then there was Filip Luňák, the goalie who played for Třebíč 's A-team during my childhood. I loved him. I watched all of his games from the stands. My dad coached the juniors for the same club so Filip knew me. He knew how much I wanted to be a goalie.

Some afternoons when his practice had ended, he would teach me the basics of being a goalie. At the end of our practice, he would take penalty shots or shoot at me from different angles and distances. He didn’t fill my head with theory or how to hold the glove properly. He wanted me to find my own way of stopping the puck. When there was time and availability, we went to the rink; just the two of us.

Filip, even though we write to each other occasionally, I never actually thanked you for what you did for me. You gave me the most important basics of goaltending. I trusted that you would teach me correctly because I watched you play. Allow me to at least thank you through this story.

It was Filip who helped me persuade my dad to buy me goalie gear. My dad got me some old goalie gloves so I didn’t have to catch with my homemade wooden blocker but he still didn’t want to hear a thing about me playing goalie. I heard him say so many times what many other boys like me probably heard as well: “Only one can play. Why do you want to make it harder for yourself? Wouldn’t you rather score?”

I couldn't help it. I was always drawn to leg pads, gloves and masks with custom designs. Tomáš Vokoun's wife comes from Třebíč and she visited a place near my grandparents’ cottage every summer. When Tomáš signed a card for me, my lifelong passion was set in stone.

Still, it took almost a year before I cried my way into the net over my dad's protests. Once he saw that it was really what I wanted and that I would not let it go, he stopped protesting.

That was the first time I showed how stubborn I could be. I have no idea where I got this character trait, but I have had it since I was little; especially when it comes to hockey. I’ve displayed it many times since then. It was as if there was a voice inside telling me: “Go this way. What you want is right.” I didn't know it at the time, and everyone around me had a different opinion, but my decision was always right. Maybe it's just because I refused to give up. If I chose this path, I knew I had to fight to make it pay off.

If I had listened to what others told me, including my parents, I might be a forward for Třebíč. Maybe I wouldn’t even be playing hockey, but there would definitely be no catching pucks, no NHL, no national team. Even so, the fears of whether I would be good enough and whether I was doing the right thing accompanied me on my journey to Pardubice, then to Kometa Brno and even when I left for the USA.

I’m grateful to my parents for how they raised me. What amazing people they are. Thanks to them I know what decency and hard work are and they’ve also led me on the path of education. Even as a hockey player with a professional contract, I didn’t drop out of school. At the same time, I was able to say no to the conservative approach to life which gets passed down in our family; the style of playing it safe and not wanting too much, so as not to screw up your life by wanting more than you have.

I listen to others' opinions, especially my parents, but the final decision is mine. I am responsible for where I go and what I do. I can’t follow the advice of others and then blame them if I fail.

When I had an offer from Arizona in front of me I acted just as I had in the past when I decided to become a goalie. I did it my way, despite the opinions of those around me.