Letter: My son is a rolling stone and I’m going to miss him

My son is moving to England, if not permanently at least for the foreseeable future. He’s already planning on buying a house there.

It’s interesting how things turn out.

Though I too, albeit to a much lesser degree, moved a significant distance away from my parents and have had the good fortune of meeting fantastic people anywhere I’ve cared to place my hat. I have never liked the distance and time separating me from anyone – ironically even if they may be only a few blocks away.

So, with my first ape setting up residence across the Atlantic, you can imagine that this isn’t what I wanted.

My issue isn’t the people or the locale of where he’s going as both are manifestly top-notch and I very much look forward to meeting them all.

It’s the distance.

I shouldn’t complain. Many people I know have kids that have moved to Japan, Dubai, Australia and other spots on the other side of this oblate spheroid.

My son doesn’t think this is a big deal at all. Flying and travelling to him is like taking a taxi.

But I’ve adjusted. This past Sunday I blurted out “F–k it – England is part of my life now.”

In a way it makes sense. My ancestors moved here to Canada from Scotland in the 1800s. I’ve studied England, love the humour. A lot of television we watch is from there. I drink tea prodigiously. Et cetera, et cetera.

I wanted the white picket fence. I wanted the regular Sunday suppers. I am not going to get that.

Instead, I’m going to get something different. Maybe, just maybe … I’ll get what I need.

Douglas Miller
Greater Sudbury