Tara: And Dad Unmasked

If you have a "Dad" in your life—or a parent, a partner, a friend who wears a really convincing mask—don't rip it off. That hurts.

Dad was "organizing" (read: rearranging) his tools for the fourth time. Tara walked in, sat on an overturned bucket, and asked a question I’d never heard her ask before. tara and dad unmasked

For years, that was our story. Dad as the Provider . Dad as the Fixer . Dad as the guy who showed up, threw money at the problem (or the carnival game), and drove us home in comfortable silence. If you have a "Dad" in your life—or

I laughed out of reflex. "You? You hate mess." Tara walked in, sat on an overturned bucket,

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.

I’m wearing a Dora the Explorer backpack that’s too big for my shoulders. Dad is wearing his "Weekend Warrior" sunglasses and a strained smile. We’re at a county fair. He’s holding a giant stuffed tiger he just won by cheating at a ring toss. In the photo, I look ecstatic. He looks… present.

The person underneath is still in there. They’re just waiting for permission to breathe.