One weekend in June I went home to my parents house in Aarhus. I wanted them to come visit the weekend after because my husband and I were celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary. It felt right to have them attend.
Day one of my visit was amazing. The mood was right. Conversation flowed as it should. Barbecuing in the garden was terrific.
Second day of my visit was less amazing. With me still sleeping on the couch, my dad comes storming through the room at seven in the morning. I suggest in a sullen tone that it would do me good to keep on sleeping, and that he should keep his voice down. That was the equivalent of throwing a snow ball down a white mountain. The old man did not allow anyone in his own house to talk to him that way. It ended with me shouting at the top of my lungs while I reduced my dad to three-hundred-pound pure sulk!
We haven’t talked since. It’s only been a couple of months. Two of my cousins didn’t talk with one another for seven years. I wonder if my dad and I will break that record.