We go to a lot of hockey games, often more for connections with family and friends than the actual hockey

We have been full season ticket holders for all 18 seasons the Cleveland Monsters hockey team has existed.

While the Monsters are a minor league team (playing in the American Hockey League, which in baseball terms is equivalent to the Class AAA level), they play in a major league facility in Rocket Mortgage Fieldhouse, and they put on a major league game presentation.

Even when the team itself isn't playing so well, the experience of going to the games is still fun.

What I've come to find out during these 18 seasons, though, is that while the hockey game is the focus, the benefit has a lot more to do with human relations than anything else.

For one thing, it has given Terry and me plenty of one-on-one time with our kids. We've always had two season tickets, so for years it was usually the two of us going together or one of us plus a child.

Nowadays, with the kids all grown, they often take the tickets themselves and attend with their significant other or a friend.

Still, we have lots of great memories of attending those games and cheering on the Monsters together.

Beyond our family, we've also bonded with the great group of fellow season ticket holders (officially "Monsters Hockey Club members") who sit around us in section C108.

Right next to us is Mike, a retired anesthesia tech who is always quick to laugh and takes genuine interest in what's going on with our family.

Behind us are Dave and Karen. Dave is a retired postal worker, while Karen is an artist whose talent amazes me. Like me, Dave is a fountain of random (and generally not entirely useful) knowledge, and we often trade baseball trivia questions while watching the hockey game.

To Mike's left is Perry, one of the most genuinely nice and hilarious people you will ever meet. Perry survived a medical scare a few years ago, and we're all grateful to have him with us on game nights.

In front of us are Anthony and his family, who like us have used Monsters games as fun nights out together over the years. To their right are Scott and Dart. Scott spends a lot of time in Las Vegas these days, so we don't see him as much as used to, but Dart is a regular and a graduate of Brown University, so he's both smart AND funny.

I only see these people at hockey games, but it's like we're old friends. Anyone who has ever been a long-term season ticket holder for any sport knows what I'm talking about.

Whether or not the Monsters win on a given night, the time spent with family and friends is always a victory regardless.

OK, Dad, now I see what you meant

I moved away from home in March 1992 at the age of 22. Terry and I had just bought our first house, and I went off to live in it by myself for three months before we got married (the full extent of my bachelorhood, I guess).

Sometime later that year, after I had been gone for several months, I was at my parents' house when my dad said something I thought was a little sad at the time, but that I never fully understood until recently.

He and I were talking about something or other to do with Cleveland sports. We did that all the time. He was giving one of his long and convoluted opinions on why this coach wasn't the right fit for the team or what that franchise had to do to stop losing so much. I don't even remember specifically what he was talking about.

But I do remember what he said when he finished. He said, "At least that's what I think. I don't have anyone to talk about sports with anymore."

He said it with a little smile on his face, but it was the very definition of a sad smile. And I remember feeling a little pang of guilt in the pit of my stomach at his words.

Which, by the way, wasn't at all his intention, I'm sure. He missed having me around the house, and I think it was just his way of letting me know that.

Now fast forward about 25 years.

My son Jared is a freshman in college. He takes a full slate of classes and works a lot of hours at Dick's Sporting Goods. In between, he tries to find time to spend with his girlfriend, Lyndsey, who for the record is pretty awesome and definitely someone worth spending time with.

Jared is my sports kid. From a very young age, he and I have connected over sports. It's my fault he's an ardent Cleveland sports fan. I raised him to live and die with the Browns, Indians and Cavs, and those teams are often our main topics of conversation.

I also raised him to be a diehard hockey fan. He played the sport a little bit, and he knew more about it by the time he was 10 years old than most adults. So we talk hockey, too.

Except we don't talk about hockey or anything else as much as we used to. There just isn't time anymore. He comes home from school or work at 10 in the evening, just as I'm getting ready to go to bed. And I'm out the door the next morning long before he wakes up.

When we do have a few minutes to talk about our favorite subject, we both talk fast, as if we have to cram in everything we've been thinking before it slips our minds. They're fun conversations, punctuated with sarcasm over Cleveland teams' perennial (mis)fortunes and hope that the Cavs' 2016 NBA title won't be the sole championship for us to celebrate in our lifetimes.

Only recently did I gain a full appreciation for what my dad meant when he said he missed having his sports talk buddy around. Jared is my sports talk buddy. I have another son, Jack, but he's not so much of a sports guy, which is fine. He and I connect over other things, and we talk just as much.

It's just that the thing that bonds Jared and me is the same thing that bonded my dad and me. And there's a certain sentimentality and profound sense of legacy in that.

So I get sadder than I probably should be when Jared and I go a few days without talking Browns, Indians, Cavs, Monsters, NHL hockey or whatever. It's no one's fault that it happens, it's just the way it goes when you have a busy college kid and a busy middle-aged dad running in separate directions.

The obvious moral of the story is to take every opportunity to talk with your kids or your parents about whatever it is you have in common, whatever it is you celebrate and fret over together. That could be sports, or it could be a million other things.

What's important is that you never take it for granted.

My dad has been gone for more than 17 years now. In retrospect, I should have stopped over there more often or just called him every once in a while to talk sports. We still had our conversations after I was married, but they weren't as frequent as I would have liked. Certainly not as frequent as they had been when I lived at home.

I'm trying to make sure that doesn't happen with me and Jared, especially while he and I still technically live under the same roof.

We'll see how it goes.

Go Tribe. Go Browns. Go Cavs. And go Monsters. My dad would have agreed wholeheartedly.