Like father, like son for Lightning coach Boucher

Far from the pressure of a Stanley Cup playoff game, even farther from the complications of modern life, there is a two-bedroom cottage getaway in Quebec, some six hours northeast of Montreal. It is tucked inside the mountains and bordered by two lakes. The nearest neighbor is 9 miles away. It has no electricity, no running water.

For Lightning coach Guy Boucher, it is home.

"If you've never been to my cottage, you don't know me,'' Boucher said. "That's really where I'm from. You think you know me, but you don't.''

For Boucher, who leads the Lightning into Monday night's Game 3 of the Eastern Conference opening-round playoff series against the Pittsburgh Penguins, his life's outlook was established at that cottage.

And it was shaped by his father, Wilfrid, the most influential person in his life.

The father taught him how to fish, how to fix things. Together, they built dams, learned about animals, repaired doors, gathered wood or hiked through the woods. Mostly, they talked about life.

Boucher still hears his voice: Find your passion. Do what you love. Treat people with respect. Be honest. Give your best. Work hard - always.

"But even when you're working hard,'' Boucher said wistfully, "always find time to hear the birds sing.''

The father died too young. He was just 55 when he succumbed to a months-long battle with bone cancer on July 1, 1989 - Canada Day. Boucher, then 17, remembers hearing nonstop fireworks in the background that night, when he had no choice but to become a man.

Boucher's mother, Solange, hadn't worked in years and had never handled the finances. His younger sisters, twins Lucie and Marie-Claude, needed someone to make their school decisions. They were all grieving. It was on Boucher.

"One minute, I'm a kid,'' he said. "The next, it's complete real life. I didn't have a clue. But my father raised me to be a fighter, so I fought through it somehow.''

At the hospital, in the final days, Boucher's father asked the women to leave the room. He called his son closer. The request was simple.

"Take care of them.''

In the eyes of Boucher, his father could take care of anything.

Wilfrid Boucher was an actuary, a mathematics genius, who became an expert in risk management. His mastery of numbers made a nice living for his family. But sometimes, he felt trapped by his profession, stuck in the city, working all year in a sterile office for three weeks of vacation.

He didn't care about being rich.

He wanted to be free. He would've loved a career in professional hockey.

"For years, no matter where I went, I always heard the same thing from so many people,'' Boucher said. "They'd say, 'Guy, my goodness, you should've seen your father play.' "

Wilfrid Boucher, 5-foot-4, played on the same line with his two brothers in college. They flew down the ice, feisty and relentless. Then Wilfrid hurt his knee and it was gone, just like that.

The passion never left.

Every year, Boucher's father made a rink in the backyard. It was immaculate, perfectly constructed and designed. Together, they worked the game, played the game, talked the game.

Sometimes in the winter, Boucher's father would wake up his son around midnight and carry him to the television: "You've got to see what Gretzky just did.''

Naturally, Boucher wanted to be like his father - in every way. One day, he said he'd become an actuary. The car screeched to a halt. The father's eyes grew large. Don't work in an office. Without passion, he said, it's meaningless.

Boucher, whose own playing career was cut short, found coaching.

Marie-Claude is one of Canada's leading artists, a contemporary landscape painter with an expressionistic style who has sold her work worldwide. It also appears on greeting cards and children's books.

Lucie, already retired from a successful career in immunology, paints strictly for fun.

"It wasn't about being just like my father,'' Boucher said. "For all of us, it was about being successful and not wasting our gifts. We could be anything, but we couldn't be slackers. He wanted us to strive.''

Oh, did the father know how to strive.

On the final Christmas of his life, Boucher's father presented a 12-gauge shotgun to his son. It had been in the family for four generations. It was passed down, from father to son, always in the months preceding the father's death. That's when Boucher sensed something was up. He began closely watching his father's stoic struggle.

When it became unbearable, doctors told Boucher about the cancer. The father had been lugging around with a bad back, walking slowly, gingerly getting in and out of the car.

"This guy, your father, he's tough,'' the doctor said.

The bones and calcium were deteriorating. Boucher's father had three broken ribs and two crushed vertebrae. How did he even get out of bed? He didn't want a fuss or anyone worrying about him.

Boucher remembers the fighter. He remembers the man who looked at a 95 test score in math and asked, "Where did you make the mistake?'' He remembers the relentless perfectionism, the exacting standards.

But he also remembers someone who saw beauty in the simplest things. He remembers a father who could read a poem, then recite it back to the family, word for word. He remembers a happy man, relaxed and content, listening to classical music.

Boucher once promised his father he would play for Team Canada and win a gold medal. He would make the National Hockey League. He has done those - as a coach.

"My father would be really proud,'' he said. "He wouldn't be in the background. He'd be out front, leading the parade.

"The toughest part is he never met my wife or saw my wedding. He never met my kids. The grandparents are here - my mom and my wife's father and mother - but there's something missing. Somehow, it doesn't feel right. That's probably the thing I'm most scared of. I want my kids to be around their father and really know him.''

Each summer, Boucher takes his family to the cottage in Quebec.

"You can go see a movie, play a video game or go to a concert together, but you don't actually talk much,'' Boucher said. "The best memories our kids are building have come from that cottage. The simple things are the best things. It's like nothing else exists.''

Boucher grows closer to his wife, Marsha. He shows their three kids how to build things. Sometimes, they might see a weird-looking butterfly. He tells them to find their passion, to be honest, to always work hard. He's tough but rewarding, always guiding with a gentle, understanding hand.

Because that's what a father does.