Snow Days: Skipping Class, Never Missing a Chance to Meet Mo

Snow days were never really about missing school. They were about opportunity. Opportunity to be somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, doing something that felt a little bit stolen. For me, that opportunity almost always involved hockey—and more specifically, Mike Modano.

Growing up in Dallas, I built my winter schedule around Stars practices and Modano appearances. If Mike was signing autographs somewhere around town or skating at Valley Ranch, that mattered more than whatever Ms. Chamberlain had assigned for English 3. I should mention, she was my favorite teacher, and I hope I didn't let her down. We lived close enough that if there was the slightest indication of a morning skate, I would convince my mom to drop me and my "starstuff" off. Weekday practices during school? Well since I couldn't go, my mom had to be a team player and go instead. One afternoon in junior high, I spent the entire day wondering if she’d managed to get my Stars puck signed. This was the mid-90s—no texts, no updates. You just waited until the final bell and hoped for the best. When she picked me up, the puck was in the car. Mike had signed it.

(At some point I’ll write a full piece about my mom and everything she did for my hockey obsession, but that moment alone says enough.)

As I got older and started college at SMU, I made the mistake most people make: I assumed the things we love will always be there. I took access for granted. I drove past Star Center without slowing down. I skipped Ice Breakers at the Galleria. I passed on Modano appearances at Target and Best Buy, telling myself there would be another one.

There usually is—until there isn’t.

A couple of weeks ago, the ECHL hosted its All-Star Game in Allen, Texas. The Fan Fest featured two things that immediately caught my attention: Mike Modano and the Stanley Cup. Allen is about an hour from me, but distance felt like a weak excuse. If you know me, you'd know that it has long been my dream to have Mo visit the house and see my entire collection. It probably won't happen. So, I didn’t want this to be another moment I talked myself out of and regretted later.

The event was run well, but when the greatest American-born NHL player is in the building, lines get long. Very long. I waited three and a half hours. Everyone around me could’ve been doing something else, yet they chose to stand there. Texas still shows up for Mike. Texas still misses him.

When I finally reached the front, it was obvious why the line moved slowly. Mike wasn’t rushing anyone. He signed whatever fans brought, then stood up from his chair to take photos. That extra effort matters—it turns a quick autograph into a real memory.

I’ve met Mike more times than I can count, and every single time he’s generous with his time. He always asks how I’ve been. Sometimes he'll ask about my mom and dad. That kind of interaction may seem small, but growing up, it meant everything. When life felt uncertain, when friendships changed, when the future felt heavy, those brief moments with your hockey hero stayed with you. They stayed with me. In a lot of ways, they helped shape who I am.

He signed my jersey. We took a photo. He was scheduled to be there for three hours, and when I left, the line still stretched to the door. Later I learned he stayed past his scheduled time so everyone could meet him.

That’s who Mike Modano is.

Dallas was lucky to have him for as long as we did. I won’t take that for granted again.

A week later, Dallas was hit with an ice storm—snow days for a week. It pulled me straight back to childhood: missing class, sitting in my bedroom, watching Modano skate around Reunion Arena on a tiny 13-inch TV.

After you read this, go see your parents. Visit family. Go to a game. Don’t assume there will always be another chance.