excerpt

What Ken didn’t know was that Francisco and his father had become
friends long before the family had moved to the village, and his father
would have thoroughly approved of the impromptu meal and the dawning
friendship between the old man and his son.
When Ken finally tore himself away from his perch by the hot stove and
walked home in his still-damp clothing he was full of a deep, thrumming
joy. His mother was anything but pleased. She had awoken that morning
to find that her son had disappeared in the middle of a raging storm. His
father, however, shared his excitement about the wonderful old man on
the beach, about the life in the tidal pools and about the spumes of white
foam eddying in the howling wind.
The incident deepened the rift between mother and son that had been
growing since Ken had learned to walk and talk. It was not an intentional
rift. Louise May strove to be a good mother but it was evident that the
two would spend their lives in intense opposition to each other. More
than one observer of their relationship suggested that the problem was,
they were both warring Vikings – one polite and the other not. And so,
Ken learned quickly to do the dance of the scorpion with his mother –
keep at a respectable distance to avoid catastrophe.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573