My dad wasn't an Edmonton Oilers fan. In fact, he wasn't really my dad. He was actually my grandfather. And though he was as much of a father as anyone could ever want or need, there was one drawback.

He was a fan of the Toronto Maple Leafs.

He lived into his 70's so I guess his age grants him a Blue and White defense. It could have been worst, I suppose. He could've been a Montreal Canadiens fan.

What anoints baseball as America's pastime is the bonding it brings about between fathers and sons. But it's not a game in the glorious afternoon sunshine that makes memories for most Canadian kids, it's any Saturday night hockey game we've ever watched.

I grew up in an era where Hockey Night in Canada on the CBC was king. Heroes and villains played their roles while Dad and I cheered and booed with equal fervor.

The holiday season reminds me of a time when hockey seemed to be all that mattered and when my Dad and I wished that were true.

It would be the Oilers that earned my allegiance. Dad and I would watch as Wayne Gretzky and company weaved their magic. I'd lay on the couch falling in and out of sleep while Dad sat in his chair. He'd reach over and tousle my hair and grumble and laugh all at once, wishing that Gretzky played for his Leafs

When the Oilers won their first Stanley Cup in 1984, I was overjoyed because hockey can sometimes be your life when you're a kid. You have no responsibilities, only dreams. And as I hugged Mom and Dad, I noticed something strange. They were almost as happy as I was.

Looking back now, I realize their joy came from mine. Hockey would eventually become the communication tool between us. Growing up with older parents was difficult because the age gap can be hard to bridge and the distance that is sometimes inevitable between fathers and son appeared for me and my father as I entered my teenage years. He had turned 47 years older shortly after I logged my first day so you can imagine the differences in ideas. But all differences in opinion would vanish when the Oilers were on television.

Hockey was the link in our family and watching the Oilers on Hockey Night In Canada always brought me and my Dad together, cheering for the same result and united in our love of hockey.

And it stood the test of time .

It was the '88 Stanley Cup Playoffs and the Oilers were facing their hated rivals from Calgary. I was looking forward to watching the series but an injury felled me after the first game.

Well, I guess that's being a bit dramatic.

In reality, I came down with the flu and couldn't get out of bed to watch the second game. I was asleep when Dad awakened me with the news that Edmonton had tied the game late in the third period. He asked me to get up and watch overtime with him. I had just barely entered the living room when Wayne Gretzky launched a rocket over goaltender Mike Vernon's shoulder to end the game

Of course that would be the last year that Gretzky played for the Oilers. I can still remember the tears in Dad's eyes the day that The Great One was traded to the Los Angeles Kings.

Maybe he thought that signaled the end of the Oilers dominance and also the end of our nights watching hockey.

But, thankfully, he was wrong.

A new rivalry with the Kings presented a new challenge. Games in LA started at 12:00am local time. It wasn't so difficult for me to stay awake because I had gotten a little older but then again, so had my father. I can still remember him laying on the couch falling in and out of sleep while I sat in his chair wishing that Gretzky was still playing for Edmonton.

The next morning at school was always tough and there was even one instance when the principal thought my red morning eyes had something to do with something more than lack of sleep. But Dad and I were never closer then during the playoffs and certain things like sleep had to be mortaged and in some cases sacrificed.

Of course there were times that I couldn't stay awake but he always came to the rescue.

It was Game 1 of the 1990 Finals in Boston. I went to bed after the first overtime period while he had given up after regulation. But I didn't have to wait long to find out the result.

It was about 6:01am when Dad woke me with shouts of, "they won, they won."

He had gotten up early to listen to the radio.

The Oilers never tasted that level of success again but that didn't affect our favorite time of the year.

And as so many things change between father and son when both get older, the playoffs took on new meaning. Edmonton faded into the catergory fo also-rans but I found myself developing a soft spot for Dad's Leafs and we cheered them.

And when the Oilers burst back upon the playoff scene with Marchant's overtime wrister in '97, you can guess that the phone rang early the next evening.

I think it was about that time when I realized my father's true intentions when he'd ask me to stay home and watch hockey on the weekends I would visit them. It wasn't any longer a question about who was on the ice. It was also a chance for him and Mom to catch up on was going on in my life.

I'm no different from a lot of guys whose favorite childhood memories somehow include sports. But I hope my parents know that those nights spent staying up to watch hockey with me meant more than any gift they could have ever given. They showed they cared about my interests and that's all any kid could ever need.

A wise man once said that when you're at the age of 15, you're sure that your father knows very little if anything at all. But when you reach the age of 25, you're amazed by how much he's learned in 10 years.

And the irony is that you can somtimes spend all your life trying to find a connection with someone and when you finally do, it's too late. And sometimes the connection's been there along and it just takes awhile for one of you to realize it.

My dad and I were as different as could be. But that's fathers and sons, I guess. A constant battle of do as I say, not as I do. Most young men want to do it their own way. Most fathers want to offer their wisdom. It's the way it's always been. But although me and my Dad were hardly ever on the same page, we were always reading from same book. And that book was about loving each other.

Most of the time we spent gracing the same page were spent watching hockey.

But sadly, nothing is more certain in this life than the fact that all good things shall come to an end.

Albert A. King slipped away from me and my family one afternoon in early March of '00.

So, each year takes me further away from the last time I glimpsed his genuine smile or heard that mischevious infectious laugh.

All we'll ever have left of our loved ones are the memories. And my recollections of my father are all positive. Memories of a man who was not by his own choice uneducated but who was still intelligent enough to realize a way to show how much he loved me and in doing that allowed me to show how much I loved him. Heaven knows I wasn't the easiest kid to deal with. An Oilers fan might say that 99% of our disagreements were my fault. But he never gave up on me and he found a way to get through to me.

That's will always be a huge part of what Oilers hockey means to me.

Merry Christmas, Dad.

I'll always love and remember you.