Dad retired in June. For the first time in 45 years, he didn't have a briefcase to hide behind. And he started fading. Not dramatically—no crying or shouting. He just started sitting on the porch, staring at the hydrangeas, existing in a hollow version of himself.
That’s when the mask cracked. He looked at me—really looked—and said, "No. I hate failure. Your grandfather said painters are bums. So I put on the suit. I put on the mortgage. I put on the mask."
Unmasked: Finding My Real Father (and Myself) with Tara tara and dad unmasked
It didn’t happen over a dramatic dinner. It happened on a Tuesday at 10:47 AM, standing in the garage.
Last month, that changed. Last month, Tara and I finally asked him to take the mask off. Dad retired in June
The person underneath is still in there. They’re just waiting for permission to breathe.
For the first time, he owned his own talent without deflecting. Not dramatically—no crying or shouting
We’re not done. Tara went back to Portland. I’m still here, learning to ask better questions than "How was your day?" Yesterday, I asked, "What color do you feel like today?" He thought about it for a long time and said, "Grey. But with a little bit of orange."