The damage was done, though. While Wyatt got a normal nickname from our dad when we were kids—the tried and true “champ”—I was dubbed Stanley. Or Stan, when they’re feeling lazy. Even Mom, who pretends to be annoyed with all the obnoxious nicknames spawned in the hockey sphere, slips up sometimes. She asked Stanley to pass her the potatoes last week at dinner. Because she’s a traitor.
