I don’t think my dad ever fully understood why I never returned home other than for brief visits after I left for school in 1973. My brother, after graduation from McMaster University, went back home to live for a while… indeed, I remember at least three occasions when he went home. Usually, this was just for the summer – but that was 4 months long… and that would have been 4 months too long for me. I never went back home. Even in those years when money was tight, I didn’t go back home.

I’m not entirely sure whether it was a conscious decision (although I suspect it was), but after 1973, I never lived closer than 2½ hours away from my parents. As I wrote in “Sounds Good – Part 2", I chose the University of Windsor because Windsor was far enough away from Toronto that it would be inconvenient for my folks to make a weekend visit, but close enough that they wouldn’t feel insulted that I had chosen to study out of town. Windsor is 3½ hours west of Toronto. When I graduated from the Faculty of Education and began my career as a high school teacher, I lived for 3 years in Sharbot Lake and then another 10 years in Kingston – both about 2½ hours east of Toronto.

Oddly enough, when I did go home for a visit, dad was always glad to see me… but after only one day, I was ready to leave! Dad would invariably ask me something like, “What have you been up to?" to which I would answer, “Nothing much different from what I’ve been doing all along!" I know this was a nebulous response, but I really didn’t want to fully answer him. I wasn’t deliberately trying to be difficult, it’s just that my life was my business, and I didn’t want to share it with him. I think that somewhere in the back of my mind, having him know my every move would have somehow diminished what little power I felt by his not knowing. As long as I was somewhat secretive and evasive, I’d keep the advantage!

Dad had a way of diminishing those things that were important to me. Whenever I passed an exam at school, he’d say, “I’ll reserve judgment until I see how you do on the next one!". When I got a 95% in some course, he’d ask, “What happened to the other 5%?" This went on year after year… through high school and then through university. After a while, I simply stopped telling dad about these sorts of things, because I knew that, invariably, he’d find a way to minimize my success. I can only guess that his reason for doing this was to somehow make himself feel more important by diminishing my accomplishment. It was a sick, twisted way to raise a son! And yet, he fancied himself a good father – indeed, a better father than other men he knew!

This evasiveness, this not wanting to share, has kept my dad from knowing some of those things of which I am most proud! In 1988, I successfully completed the National Coaching Certification Program. That same year, I entered my senior band students in a competition in Boston – we won a bronze medal, and the trip was a great success; this really boosted enrollment in the music program the following year. In 1989, I earned my Honor Specialist certificate in Music Education – the practical upshot of which was that I not only got a pay raise, I was now at the highest level of teacher certification in Ontario. Dad also never knew that in 1992, I received the Dr. A. Vibert  Douglas Award for “service and achievement in astronomy" from the Royal Astronomical Society of Canada. All of these things he didn’t know… and, in the back of my mind, I was glad of it.

In 1990, much to my surprise, mom and dad became snowbirds – that is, they bought a condominium in Coral Springs, Florida (just west of Ft. Lauderdale) in the retirement community of Ramblewood. They’d spend October to April in Florida and then return to Toronto from May to September. I was genuinely glad that they were making use of their retirement savings to enjoy life in the same manner as many of their friends… but, of course, it was very expensive – especially considering the poor exchange rate between Canadian and US currency at the time.

I visited with them occasionally in Toronto, but I also went to see them 2 or 3 times in Florida – and, each time after I got back home, I wished I hadn’t gone. There was no escape from them for 3 or 4 days at a time. Mom fussed over me every time I stood up to stretch my legs… “Are you comfortable? Is there something I can get you? Do you want a piece of fruit?" and on and on. Dad would then chime in, “Why are you bothering with him? If he wants something he can get it himself… he knows where things are!" Then mom would respond to dad, and he’d respond back… each time getting louder and louder, until they were practically shouting at each other – and all because I moved from the sofa to a chair!.

I have discovered that guilt is a very fine wire on which to balance! My parents would always want to see me and I would always try to delay it – and when the visit was over, I wished I hadn’t gone at all. This dance was repeated over and over... time and time again!

When Sheila and I got married, I did not invite my parents to the wedding. I did not want my dad, in any way, to draw attention to himself and away from Sheila. In his world, in his mind, attention is a finite amount… if someone is getting any attention, that amount is drawn away from what he feels is his rightful share.