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Thanksgiving Day of 1979 in the United States fell on November 22. Tomorrow marks 35 years since that day, which was when all of my boyhood dreams came true.

All I ever wanted in my life was to play hockey. I appreciate my Groton and University of Pennsylvania education -- maybe I do have a little more intelligence than my critics think I do -- but the rink has always been where I've been the happiest. Without hockey, I wouldn't be alive to write this. As a matter of fact, without the goal of reaching and then returning to the NHL, I might not have even made it to 31 years old let alone 61.

As people, we are shaped in part by our genetics and in part by our environment. I am a third-generation member of what is now a four-generation hockey family. I am also a Boston kid through and through. Everywhere I go, I bring the experiences of my life with me. Through both nature and nurture, I'm a battler. It's the Boston way and the nature of the Stewart family.

I spent the early part of my life growing up in Dorchester. Everything you've heard about the place is true. When I had my first fight in the street as a kid, word traveled fast to my mother, and she ran out of the house to find me. It wasn't to break up the fight. It was to pick up my coat off the ground and hold it before someone else could steal it.

That is not hyperbole. It's a true story.

The rink is really where I felt at home. I truly grew up at the Boston Arena, where I even had keys to the place as I worked a variety of odd jobs when not watching my father officiate or skating on the ice myself. I also grew up with the NHL and Boston Garden in my blood, because of my grandfather. My dad also reffed at the Garden.

Can you imagine what Nov. 22, 1979 meant to me? I made my NHL debut that night, suiting up for the visiting Quebec Nordiques against the Boston Bruins at the Garden. My family was on hand. There are no words to describe how I felt: even words such as ecstatic, beaming and exhilarated fall short of adequate description.

To understand how I arrived at my big night in 1979, you have to go back two years earlier. Coincidentally, Thanksgiving night 1977 was also a big turning point in my life -- I just didn't know it at the time because I wasn't even in the place where the key events took place.

On Thanksgiving Day, 1977, the World Hockey Association's Cincinnati Stingers had a road game in Alabama against the Birmingham Bulls. At that time, I was still playing in Binghamton.

The Bulls had just acquired Dave Hanson (better known to many as "Jack Hanson" from the Hanson brothers in Slap Shot) and Steve Durbano. They already had Frank Beaton, Serge Beaudoin and Gilles "Bad News" Bilodeau, who later had an NHL stint with Quebec at about the same time I did.

The Birmingham team's top scoring line featured a teenage star center who was a gifted offensive player but also one of the biggest instigators and dirtiest players of all time: Kenny "the Rat" Linseman. The aptly-nicknamed Rat was a master at slashing, spearing and starting fights that others had to finish while he skated away from the pack.

The atmosphere at Birmingham home games in the mid-1970s would shock and repulse folks in today's more delicate and politically correct times. In a juxtaposition -- see, my Ivy League degree is good for something -- of Bible Belt values and good ol' boy Rebel machismo, the Bulls used to bring out a local minister to say a prayer before the game for the players' safety.

Fans bowed their heads, remained silent through "in Christ's name we pray" and said "Amen" in unison. Then, all game long, the very same fans waved Confederate flags, sang Dixie at stoppages of play and use the Lord's name in vain as they cursed visiting players.

On this night, the visiting Stingers needed all the prayers they could get. Cincinnati had a skilled but somewhat undersized team that didn't have a lot of guys who fought regularly.

For the first shift of the game, Cincy coach Jacques Demers sent out his team's small skill guys like Robbie Ftorek, Del Hall and Jamie Hislop. Birmingham sent out their fighters, with instructions from their coach, Glen Sonmor, to send an immediate message.

Upon the drop of the opening faceoff, the Bulls players immediately jumped and beat the crap out of the Stingers on the ice.

For some reason, when referee Peter Moffat sorted out all the penalties, Birmingham ended up with a power play out of the line brawl. From the bench, Cincy's Rick Dudley threatened to kill Moffat. Demers then threw a stick on the ice aimed at the referee.

When the first attempted javelin toss missed badly, Demers threw another. When that one missed, Jacques tossed a third stick and completed the hat trick.

Not too long after the Bulls beat the tar -- or, as we say in Boston, tah -- out of the Stingers, Cincinnati signed me to a WHA tryout contract. In my second game with the team the Stingers had a return trip to Birmingham.

I had seen and fought against some of the Bulls' guys when I was in the NAHL with the Binghamtom Dusters and I'd had a two-game WHA tryout a couple years earlier with the Edmonton Oilers. So I knew full well what to expect.

During the warmups, I locked eyes with a couple of the Birmingham players and someone started trash talking me about how I was going to be the next one to get beaten to a pulp.

I said, "You know where to find me."

I was ready in case something started right then and there but it didn't; at least not til the game began.

In my first shift of my first game against the Bulls, I fought Frank Beaton. The next time I hit the ice, I went with Jim Turkiewicz. Then I dropped 'em with Bilodeau. Five shifts, three fights.

At any rate, I stuck with the Stingers team. When my tryout was converted into a full contract, I got myself a nice raise, and established myself as one of the better enforcers in the league. I didn't always win, but I never backed down from anyone and I could slug it out with the heavyweights.

With that background in mind, two Thanksgivings later, I make my NHL debut for the Nordiques in the Boston Garden. Just as he was in Cincinnati, Demers is my coach in Quebec. If not for Jacques, the Nords probably would not have given me my long-dreamed chance.

Once again, my close friend Ftorek was one of my teammates. The team had lots of French-Canadian skill players on the squad like Michel Goulet, Real Cloutier and Marc Tardif. I was brought to Quebec for the same reason I was brought to all of my other teams.

Two days before Thanksgiving 1979, there was a game between the Bruins and Nordiques that got out of control. It all started when Boston's Bobby Schmautz delivered a cheapshot to Ftorek. Robbie gave him a dose of his own medicine, slicing Schmautz with his stick. The Bruins counter-retaliated heavily, and there were numerous fights over the remainder of the game.

Demers, knew he needed a little extra toughness in his lineup. As a result, I got called up to make my NHL debut in the Thanksgiving rematch in Boston. I tangled with Wayne Cashman during the warmups, and the war was on.

I earned a Dorchester Hat Trick in this game!

Hang on... you've never heard of a Dorchester Hat Trick, you say? Remember what I said before about what it was like to grow up in that part of Boston. I'm sure you know a Gordie Howe Hat Trick is one goal, one assist and one fight in the same game. A Dorchester Hat Trick is three fights in one game and the automatic game misconduct that comes with it.

During the game, I dropped the gloves first with the legendary Terry O'Reilly. Next, I fought Stan Jonathan, who bloodied me in a spirited tilt. Finally, I went with Al Secord and received an automatic game misconduct for my third fight of the game. Referee Dave Newell, later a colleague of mine, escorted me off the ice.



I am proud to say that I held my own in all three of my fights that night. O'Reilly was a legend and Jonathan was an undersized player in terms of height but was, pound-for-pound, one of the strongest and toughest sonofaguns in the game.

It was people like O'Reilly who were the truly elite tough guys in the NHL, and who gave someone like me the chance to be perceived as a tough guy because I sought him out and fought him was something that I was legitimately very grateful about then and now.

The only thing that could made that night better for me is if my team had won the game. Alas, as was usually the case on the Bruins' smaller-than-standard home ice on those days, the Boston squad was a little too much for the visiting team. We lost the game, but I felt like I had won the war on an intensely personal level. My whole life had prepared me for that night.

I was in the NHL, and the dream came true on the very same ice that I used to watch my grandfather, father and a many of the great players of my youth skate. Until my sons were born, it was the greatest night of my life.

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Paul Stewart holds the distinction of being the first U.S.-born citizen to make it to the NHL as both a player and referee. On March 15, 2003, he became the first American-born referee to officiate in 1,000 NHL games.

Today, Stewart is an officiating and league discipline consultant for the Kontinental Hockey League (KHL) and serves as director of hockey officiating for the Eastern College Athletic Conference (ECAC).

The longtime referee heads Officiating by Stewart, a consulting, training and evaluation service for officials. Stewart also maintains a busy schedule as a public speaker, fund raiser and master-of-ceremonies for a host of private, corporate and public events. As a non-hockey venture, he is the owner of Lest We Forget.

In addition to his blogs for HockeyBuzz every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, Stewart writes a column every Wednesday for the Huffington Post.