Sunday morning, 7am. I was openly skeptical of the decision for Whit to play hockey, quite critical of the schedule (6am games on Sundays?) and demands, and basically not into the idea at all. I never thought I’d say this, then: I am so glad my son plays hockey. I even like the early morning games. On the Sundays that I take him, it’s just us, alone in the world, munching a toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwich as we drive through the rising dawn. I love it.