Luffy Richard here, ready for another small bit of homework. When I first started playing hockey, at the tender age of in-utero, my father used to mutter "that boy ain't right," because he couldn't understand why any Latino would like the cold. He forgets we are also French Canadian. He didn't stay for practices and worked a lot, so he missed plenty of games. Kind of like the Dad from Hook.

But during the games he did attend, he was the loudest parent at the rink. I think this had a psychological effect on the other teams who had to cover their ears instead of playing or risk losing their hearing. Luckily for me, my ears were used to the bombastic encouragement that my father would grace everyone with. I was on some terrible teams growing up, but that never mattered to my pops. He was just happy to see me compete for something other than lowest grade in my class. It's weird how I used to get in trouble for reading in class. I thought teachers loved when kids read on their own.

This past weekend, I got my pops a couple of father themed shirt. He gets a kick out of wearing nerdy or fandom shirts. He likes dragons, so I got him one with a cartoon dragon, and a Star Wars shirt because he just finished watching them all. It was a good time. I'm glad the team scored a bye-week so I could help him grill.