sports

The Unofficial Billet Boy Survival Guide

We have had hockey boys from all over the United States and even a couple of international locations. None of them have been perfect, although some have certainly worked harder at perfection than others.

With one of our boys leaving our household yesterday, it seemed like a good time to put down a few pointers for the hockey players who find themselves living in someone else’s house for a season. These won’t guarantee universal success, but they should increase your chances of becoming a favorite billet in our house.

Remember that your billet parents are responsible for you. If you want to spend the night at your girlfriend’s house, we are probably not the right billet house for you. We actually had one boy “move” to another billet house because the billet mom there didn’t care if he stayed at his girlfriend’s house instead of coming home.

If you choose to go down that road, I recommend buttering up your current billets first. Ask if they would mind making pizza for dinner. Maybe compliment the cooking. Make everyone feel like you are really connecting with them. Then, when the billet coordinator calls the next day to say you want to move, the whole puzzle will come together beautifully.

If you are under 21, there isn’t much wiggle room on alcohol in our house. My theory is pretty simple: you are here to play hockey. If you have other priorities, we probably aren’t going to be a great fit.

And if you decide to drink anyway and think you are being sneaky, remember that you are dealing with someone who has raised four children. I have seen things. I am also sneakier than you are.

We make a pretty serious effort to cook dinner every night. And if we fail at that, we usually beg you to indulge us on the occasional “warm-up” night where dinner might be less ambitious.

So if your mother decides to send a two- or three-pound bag of chicken nuggets to our front door without warning, there are only so many complimentary ways I can interpret that.

And if you don’t eat the dinner because you claim your ADHD medication makes you not hungry, but then order a meal from Uber Eats later that evening, I am going to notice. I may not say anything immediately, but I will notice. I have been doing this for a while.

We are happy to provide your water. And if you insist on spring water instead of filtered water, you are probably going to win that argument. No matter how many times I see the people at Sam’s Club peddling those five-gallon jugs, I will continue to walk past them.

I know you like your 16.9-ounce plastic bottles. You like being able to count them so you know exactly how much water you have consumed. That’s fine. But I do think you need to finish the bottle before taking credit for drinking it.

Turn off the lights.

This one varies by boy, but I have walked into the guys’ rooms and found as many as five lights on at one time. I am not judging. I am simply suggesting that if you can flick the switch on, you can flick the switch off.

Electricity is not free, despite what your bedroom may be telling you.

Technically, you can walk around the house shirtless. But out of respect for the women in the house, please wear a shirt.

The hot tub is an exemption.

I am not unreasonable.

We used to assign jobs. One boy would load or unload the dishwasher. Another would set the table. This worked beautifully right up until the boy with the job was taking a nap, out golfing, or otherwise unavailable for reasons that were apparently very important to him.

Hockey boys do a lot of napping.

So, to simplify things for the adults in the household, we have boiled our expectations down to two rules:

  1. Help clean off the table after dinner.
  2. If you make a mess or see something that needs to be done, take care of it.

This won’t get everyone on the same page, but at least it gets everyone pointed in the same direction.

Game-day breakfasts are a little different. We know the rules are going to slip sometimes, but as much as it depends on you, refrain from using inappropriate language.

There are younger fans around, and you are in a position to be a role model to them. There are plenty of role models in the world who curse without hesitation. Be willing to stand out and be different.

Besides, if you are going to spend the season in our house, I need to believe I have at least a little influence over you.

We know you like to shower.

I am not entirely sure why you need to shower before your nap, after your nap, and again before getting back on the ice, but apparently this is important to you.

Do what you have to do. Just don’t overdo it.

Hot water is not free, and I have yet to discover a hockey scholarship that includes unlimited water usage.

If it is here, it is yours to eat. That is typically what I tell the boys.

However, if you develop a particular affinity for something in the pantry or freezer, it might be helpful to let your billet parents know about it.

If you and your billet parent both develop a hankering for the same sweet or salty item on the same night, somebody may be disappointed. If I know what you like, I can at least keep an eye on it and try to keep it stocked.

This is one of the less complicated ways to keep the peace in a house full of hockey players.

Your parents and your billet parents are on the same team.

The best boys typically had parents who understood that. We are both trying to get their son through the season safely and successfully.

If there is an injury or a bout with the flu, we try to work together. I might say to one of our players, “Does your mom know about that injury? If you don’t tell her, I will text her tomorrow.”

We aren’t there to get involved in how they parent their son. We are there to provide some on-the-ground accountability.

Sometimes a hockey player’s enthusiasm can make him think that playing through something is more important than dealing with the thing he is playing through. That is where we can help.

I can’t guarantee that I have an infinite supply of wise words, but the next hockey boy I talk to will be far from my first.

Whether we are discussing a coach’s decision, a hockey situation, or whether he should eat more vegetables, I will probably have an opinion.

On the hockey stuff, I will defer to his parents and hockey adviser.

On the vegetables, he is going to have to develop a pretty strong resolve because we are not going to stop presenting them as an option.

Eventually, he may even eat one.

If you have your own vehicle, you may not always get a spot in the driveway.

And if your billet parents’ daughter is pregnant with twins and already has a toddler running around, be a gentleman. You may have to park somewhere else and walk a little farther.

This is not a complicated concept. You are young. Your legs work.

Pay your billet fees on time.

With the Warriors organization, billet parents pay the fees directly. When we first started with the Brahmas, billet parents paid the Brahmas, who then sent us a check. Now, we are paid directly by the parents, and we fill out a form online letting the organization know we have been paid.

A failure to pay on time comes with a warning. Multiple warnings come with penalties to the player.

But please don’t do what one parent did.

Her son had wanted to be traded for several weeks. We barely knew he had actually been traded before she sent us a Venmo request to refund the unused portion of that month’s billet fees.

Not surprisingly, this was not a hockey boy we were a particularly good match for.

It is unlikely that we would ever ask for a boy to be moved from our home. But it is also unlikely that we will shed many tears when some of them move on.

And that may be the strangest part of being a billet parent.

If you are going to live in our house for any length of time, you are going to spend some time marinating in our version of right and wrong. Where we think we can have an influence, we will. If we find ourselves pushing our ideals too far, we will back off.

It was our home before it was yours.

It will still be our home after you leave.

Even if every one of our boys gets cut, we aren’t going to lower our standards just to make sure we have hockey players sitting around the dinner table. Just like with our own children, the rules can flex. Some can be partially ignored. Every boy and every situation is a little different.

But the basic expectations remain.

Be respectful. Be responsible. Be considerate. Help out. Tell the truth. And, when somebody is trying to take care of you, recognize that they are actually trying to take care of you.

We wouldn’t be worthy of the title “billet parent” if we weren’t willing to roll up our sleeves, adjust the rules when necessary, and occasionally remind a hockey player that there is a world outside the rink.

And, despite all the lights left on, showers taken, chicken nuggets delivered, vegetables rejected, and questionable decisions made along the way, we really are glad to have them.

They come into our house as hockey players.

If we do it right, they leave having been part of our family for a little while.

The Cost of Rent

When our son temporarily moved back into our spare bedroom before his wedding, I made the standard dad joke about charging rent. The kind that isn’t really a joke.

He countered with lattes and espressos. Which sounded generous until I did the math and realized we’d need to consume coffee at levels typically reserved for medical residents and long-haul truckers to break even.

So he sweetened the deal with two tickets to a Thunder playoff game.

As a landlord, I found this reasonable.

There was one small wrinkle. The game fell on the same weekend he’d committed to being in a friend’s wedding. Poor planning, really — if you’re going to have friends, they should at least consult the NBA schedule. Through some workplace point system I don’t fully understand — something between airline miles and a Vegas loyalty program — he’d been saving up for exactly this kind of game. Once he committed to giving us the tickets, he dumped every point into the opening home playoff game. His coworkers, apparently uninterested in burning points on a boring first-round matchup, offered no resistance.

He did, for the record, manage to score tickets to Wednesday’s game. Nobody else wanted those either. First-round games are very boring.

Getting the tickets transferred to my phone was described as seamless. This is a word technology people use when they are being optimistic. Eventually, after some button pressing and what I can only assume was divine intervention, they appeared. Victory.

April 19th is the anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing, which means downtown sees street closures and the city feels different. There’s the upcoming Art Festival setup, the Marathon connections, and the memorial events marking 31 years. It added a layer of reflection to what was otherwise a “let’s not get a parking ticket” mission.

We parked on the west side of Jeff’s old apartment building — his recommendation — which translated loosely to: park far enough away to question your choices, but save ten dollars. The walk took us past art show booths and through the Botanical Garden, and we eventually merged into the crowd moving toward the arena with the slow determination of migrating animals. We crossed the final street in police-approved mob fashion and successfully ignored a street preacher, hoping he’s able to plant some seeds.

My wife walked through the entrance carrying a Sonic drink like a seasoned contrabandist. No one stopped her. Whether this was arena policy or a lapse in attention, I have chosen not to investigate.

Every seat had a t-shirt and a clapper noisemaker. The shirts were extra-large, which felt simultaneously optimistic and judgmental. We were fine with extra-large.

Section 114 put us close enough to see everything without the monitors, which I appreciated. My varicose veins don’t prevent walking, but standing in place for extended periods is another matter entirely. When the crowd rose, and we did not, I used the monitors to catch whatever I was apparently missing by remaining seated like a reasonable person.

Blessing Offor sang the national anthem and performed at halftime. He wore sunglasses indoors, and I briefly wondered if he was trying to channel Stevie Wonder. Turns out, he actually has a story worth knowing. That one’s on me.

The camera work featured a lot of hip-level shots of dancers and performers and whoever else was on the floor. I’m told this is a stylistic choice. It is also, apparently, a young person’s broadcast world, and I’m just living in it.

The Thunder started slow, then remembered they were defending champions. By the third quarter, the outcome was about as uncertain as a Hallmark movie, and I found my attention drifting. At one point, I thought: if I were home watching this, I’d already be doing something else.

Final score: 119-84. Great seats, great outcome, questionable engagement on my part.

During the third quarter, the season-ticket holder next to Judy mentioned that the six seats in front of us belonged to out-of-town fans who never showed. We waited until the result was genuinely not in doubt, then quietly liberated two extra shirts — one for Jeff, one for his fiancée. Consider it a finder’s fee.

We left two minutes early. This is our standard “outcome is clear” protocol, and it almost never actually helps. We still ended up shuffling fifteen minutes behind a crowd moving at the speed of thoughtful contemplation.

I usually operate in about five walking gears. Judy has two, maybe three on a good day. Normally, I’d be quietly restless about the pace. But somewhere between the arena and the parking lot, it occurred to me that my best friend was right there, enjoying a beautiful Sunday afternoon with a man who complains about camera angles and caffeine-to-rent ratios.

When she’s happy to be there, the least I can do is find a higher gear of gratitude. Dial back the sarcasm. Pay attention to the win that’s actually happening.

More than three decades in, and she still wants to spend a Sunday afternoon with me. The least I can do is show up for it.

The “Same Dress” Dilemma: A Hockey Jersey Saga

In the high-stakes world of hockey, your social standing isn’t determined by your bank account or your personality – it’s determined by what you wear on your back. As a billet parent with my largely non-hockey brain, I’ve learned that jerseys (or “sweaters,” if you want to sound like you know where the locker room is) are the ultimate status symbol.

If you’re wearing the jersey of a legend, you’re a god. If you’re wearing a “so-so” player from a “so-so” team, you’re a poser. These are the rules. I didn’t make them; I just live in a house full of sweaty equipment and try to keep up.

The Seasonal Rainbow of Fabric

In junior hockey, there are two normal ways to acquire these holy grails of nylon:

  • The Auction Gauntlet: The team releases specialty jerseys for every possible occasion – Halloween, Military Appreciation, St. Patrick’s Day. If there’s a holiday, there’s a jersey. This weekend, it’s St. Paddy’s. The team colors are orange and black, so naturally, they’ll be playing in bright green. After the Saturday game, the “Popular Kids” see their jerseys go for a mint, while the newbies’ jerseys hit the minimum bid and hope for a pity-purchase.
  • The Billet Buy-In: At the end of the season, for a cool $250, we get first dibs on our player’s jersey. It’s like buying a graduation gown, but with more Gatorade stains.

The Top Prospect Jackpot

Then there’s the rare third way: The Gift. Our resident “Age-Out” player recently went to a Top Prospects tournament – a speed-dating event for scouts. Except nobody’s getting a rose, just a handshake and a business card. After the tournament, he told me he’d give me his jersey from the bottom of his locker. Frankly, I didn’t think I’d ever see it.

The other day, he came home, looked at me, and said, “I have a surprise for you.” He produced a jersey that can only be described as a sentient yellow traffic pylon.

I was thrilled. I asked the important question: “Does anyone else have this?” He told me only one other existed, and it had been auctioned off to a Super-Fan who owns 35+ jerseys and supposedly writes them off as a business expense. (He’s a recently graduated teenager; I didn’t grill him on the intricacies of the tax code, though I’m curious which IRS category covers “Luminous Athletic Wear.”)

The “Who Wore It Better?” Showdown

I washed my new prize and headed to our seats in the top row. (Pro tip: The top row is where the heat rises and the beer-spilling traffic can’t block your view.)

I scanned the crowd, like I had won something, until I looked to my left. There he was. The Tax-Write-Off Titan. He was wearing The Dress. We were identical. Two bright yellow beacons in a sea of orange and black. I looked at him; he looked at me. It was the classic “Same Dress at the Prom” nightmare, only with more ice and fewer corsages.

The Vanishing Act

Suddenly, he was gone. End of the first period? Vanished. Start of the second? Still missing. I had one theory, and it was solidifying fast: he couldn’t handle the competition. He’d seen me – the amateur billet dad – rocking his exclusive investment, and he’d retreated to the concessions to lick his wounds.

As it turns out, I’m not that intimidating. My player later told me the guy actually tracked him down to get a photo together. Apparently, he wasn’t offended; he just didn’t want us standing too close and accidentally directing traffic toward the goal.

So I’ve kept my status. I’m not a poser anymore. We’re not rivals. We’re not even a coincidence.

We’re a construction zone.

Billet Life: Hosting Hockey’s Next Generation

This is the first of the titles included on my “semi-retired” business card.

Slapshot Supervisor

Being a billet parent is like being a cross between a dorm supervisor, a hockey team cheerleader, and an all-you-can-eat buffet manager. It’s not a job for the faint of heart, but it’s one filled with laughter, camaraderie, and enough hockey talk to last a lifetime. Here’s what it’s like to open your home—and your fridge—to junior hockey players.

What Is a Billet Parent?

We’re not coaches, and we’re not just landlords. A billet parent provides a home for junior hockey players, typically aged 17–20, during their season. These players are chasing their dreams of making it to college hockey and beyond, and we get a front-row seat to their journey. For a small stipend to cover food, water, and endless snacks, we become a temporary family for these young athletes.

Fast Facts About Junior Hockey Players

  1. Age Range: Most players are 17–20, though some turn 21 during the season.
  2. Goal-Oriented: Their primary aim is to earn a college hockey scholarship, adjusting their plans as the season progresses.
  3. Agents: Many players have “agents” who assist with trades and team placements, though the details often remain a mystery to us.
  4. Parent Connection: While we provide day-to-day support, the boys usually stay closely connected to their families.
  5. Cultural Mix: Players from Minnesota are often grounded, while those from boarding schools can bring quirky habits.

How It All Began

Our billet journey started during the fall of 2020, in the midst of the pandemic. A friend from Minnesota connected us with a young player who needed a billet home. We filled out the paperwork, welcomed him in, and haven’t looked back since. Now, six years later, we’ve hosted players from as far away as Canada and beyond, first with the Lone Star Brahmas in Texas and now with the OKC Warriors in Oklahoma.

The Players We Host

Over the years, we’ve housed a variety of players, including:

  • Returners: Familiar faces from previous seasons.
  • Newcomers: Boys trying out for the team or moving up a level.
  • Short-Term Guests: Players staying for just a week during tryouts.
  • Mid-Season Additions: Players cut from other teams, looking for a fresh start.

Some stay a week, others the whole season. It’s always a revolving door of hockey bags, sticks, and personalities.

Why We Do It

This isn’t just about hockey—it’s about building relationships and shaping young lives. Here’s why we keep coming back:

  • Meaningful Connections: While we don’t expect lifelong friendships, we treasure the bonds we form. A quick text on their birthday or after a big game keeps the connection alive.
  • Faith and Values: As Christians, we aim to model kindness, integrity, and hospitality. We say grace at dinner and welcome the boys to join us at church (though they rarely do).
  • Food, Glorious Food: Feeding teenage hockey players is no small feat. We often serve big breakfasts on game days and keep the pantry stocked for the team’s bottomless appetites.
  • Shared Moments: From listening to their hockey banter to watching them grow, these moments make it all worthwhile.

The Unknowns of the Season

Every season brings its own set of surprises:

  • Will all three of our initial players stay, or will we be making airport runs for mid-season replacements?
  • Will they be adventurous eaters or stick to pizza and burgers?
  • How many extra players will show up unannounced for dinner?

One thing’s for sure: by spring, we’ll have a house full of memories and an empty fridge.

Final Thoughts

Being a billet parent is a unique and rewarding experience. It’s not without its challenges—like constantly restocking snacks or navigating the occasional personality clash—but the joy of watching these young men chase their dreams makes it all worthwhile. Whether we’re hosting three players or twelve, we’re proud to play a small part in their journey, one slap shot at a time.