You remember that time when you came home early from some party you were going to? You left because it was lame, or it got busted, or you couldn't figure out where the person having the party lived. And you decided that you'd just call it a night?

Shortly after walking up the steps or down the hall to your room, you heard some really weird grunts behind the closed door to your parent's bedroom. Good Lord, you came home and heard your parents having sex!

I don't have such a story.

My parents have slept in separate rooms since I was in grade four. My mom's 4-poster bed is ancient and squeaks if you merely lay a hand on it, yet I was never woken up by any ruckus-making happening on top of it.

Mind you, I'm glad I never had to suffer the embarassment of hearing it, or walking in on it going on. I'd either be blind, or devastated in some way that would precipitate my career as a serial killer.

But I think about how distant my parents are today, in their retirement down in South Carolina. My dad will sometimes call me out of the blue, to say a very strained hello. He talks about his lawn a lot, and what sporting events he's watched at the nearby university. But he's bored. And when I call, my mom usually isn't around; she never could just sit back and relax, always had to be doing something. So she got herself a job--she's supposed to be retired.

"Your mom never was outwardly affectionate," he would tell me, "but I'll always give you a hug!"

One time during a fight (becaus my mom sure knows how to pick them), he threatened her with divorce. It didn't happen, and at this stage it'd be ridiculous, but ... I don't know. You'd think with both me and my brother out on our own, they'd have nothing but opportunity to make up on lost time, you know? I mean... c'mon!

But they still sleep in separate rooms, just in a different house.

And I am so sad when I am at a diner, and I see an elderly couple who don't speak a single word to each other while they're sitting there. I just don't want my parents to end up that way.