We define ourselves by where we’re from. Where we are at the moment isn’t as important. And I was from Detroit.
Gordie Howe was the reason I might have gotten a little peevish a few years ago defending hockey against the charge it’s mainly “for the white and affluent.” He grew up a mechanic’s son in a huge family, playing hockey in skates the wrong size, on frozen Saskatchewan ponds, and he was dyslexic and flunked third grade twice. There was never much food on the table and doctors prescribed vitamins to build his bones up. You don’t grow up white in these circumstances. You grow up hungry and relentless.
