I didn’t think I’d enjoy hockey when I was younger. It was too difficult to see what was going on with my spectacled eyes, and the loud noise seemed unpleasant to me. But at First Arena in Elmira, NY, when I was around 8 years old, that changed. I took a bite of my popcorn and cheered with my grandfather as one of the Bruins hit the puck into the goal. When we left, my grandfather bought me a jersey. On its own, the match wouldn’t be especially entertaining for me — but I was there with my grandfather, and that was what mattered. It was bonding with someone close to me.