Dad Unmasked: Tara And

He froze, wrench in hand.

And he cried. For the first time in my living memory, my dad cried. Not a movie cry—an ugly, snotty, relieved cry. He cried for the boy who never got a paintbrush. He cried for the 30 years of commutes. He cried because Tara finally gave him permission to be tired. tara and dad unmasked

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." He froze, wrench in hand