When David was little, his dad was an invincible superhero. Dads usually are. He wonders if he himself is going to be one to his child. His dad taught him to skate, patiently and gently. He never got into fights. David knew that other dads sometimes did, but never his. His dad read stories and sang lullabies, didn’t shout when his son wet himself in the supermarket, didn’t shout when he broke a window with a ball. His dad was a big man in daily life, and a giant on the ice, ruthless and invulnerable. “A real man!” the coaches always used to say, admiringly. David would stand by the boards and
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