I need my readers to help me with some advice about how to make amends for an incident that occurred in 2007.

It happened on the first day of meeting my eventual son-in-law and, unfortunately, it turned out be incendiary. 

Let me set the scene: Main Street, Vancouver, in a shabby, noisy, upstairs flat, with dying pot plants, shredded linoleum, strewn clothes, cat fur engulfing the couch, and the distinct smell of mould, even with all the windows open.

“We like fresh air and openness,” my daughter, Serena, explained, “even if everyone can see us.”