About thirty years ago, I was standing on wooden stands set next to an outdoor hockey rink, watching my father in a game. He was wearing an orange sweater, and if my memory serves me correctly, he was the fastest player on the ice.

Then, out of pure pride, and excitement of the game, I yelled at the top of my lungs, “Go, Dad!”

Everybody around me laughed.

It took me – literally – years to figure out why they laughed. And then I realized (and this still just my theory) that they thought it was a) cute and b) a little dumb to yell just “Dad” and not use his name. There were probably a lot of Dads out there.

But I know my Dad heard it, and felt good, and skated even faster.