never addressed him “Daddy” or
“Father,” either. I couldn’t. I was
instructed not to. If we were out in
public or anywhere people might
overhear us and I called him “Dad,”
someone might have asked
questions or called the police. So for
as long as I can remember I always
called him Robert.
While I know nothing of my
dad’s life before me, thanks to my
mom and just from the time I have
been able to spend with him, I do
have a sense of who he is as a
person. He’s very Swiss, clean and
particular and precise. He’s the only
person I know who checks into a