Five years later, I stood in the stands of the Mercer Hockey and Art Academy with a camera hanging from my neck, a coffee going cold in my hands that I had no intention of drinking, and a very familiar pair of shoulders in my viewfinder.Dean was on the ice with a group of seven-year-olds, crouched low as he patiently explained for what I counted as the fourth time why they shouldn’t skate backward into the net. A girl with a ponytail was arguing with him, her arms crossed, and I watched him surrender with a laugh and let her demonstrate her own theory. She promptly took a spectacular fall, got back up, and declared it a success.“Mama!”Our daughter Montserrat, four years old and already furious about most things, hurtled across the bleachers toward me. Paint covered her hands, with an alarming amount of it smeared across her face. She climbed into my lap and presented me with a drawing of what appeared to be a purple horse carrying a hockey stick.“It is Daddy,” she informed me grav
Last Updated : 2026-10-31 Read more