“Dad, those colours don’t match”, I said looking askance at him as he threw on a pale blue overcoat over his work clothes. I saw an elderly man wearing a lime green vinyl belt holding up yellow plaid ankle biter pants. A pale pink buttoned down dress shirt and a chartreuse green tie endorned with brilliant monarch butterflies completed his outfit. “Well I’m colour blind so they look fine to me,” he said as the door closed quietly behind him. I’d been making the same comment to him and had experienced the same sense of inner disapproval for all of my life. My own identity in the social milieu of my peers had ingrained in me the nuance that the right outward appearance was the very essence of success. I wanted to fit in. Dad did not.