Growing Up Under My Father’s Shadow
I grew up in suburban Chicago in a house that appeared flawless from the outside.
A two-story colonial home.
A perfectly manicured lawn.
Windows that were always spotless.
Everything about it reflected my father’s obsession with appearances.
My father, Matthew Richards, was the Chief Financial Officer of a well-known financial firm downtown. To him, success only came in one acceptable form: elite schools, influential careers, and the approval of men who wore the same expensive suits and identical watches.
In the Richards household, expectations weren’t suggestions.
They were rules.
He almost never needed to raise his voice. A slight shift in tone could quiet the entire dinner table.
And we all learned early that disappointing him was simply not allowed.
