The Emperor Has No Clothes

The Emperor Has No Clothes

In July 2020, eleven months since we first went no-contact, my father wrote me his own obituary. Entitled “Who I Am on the Way,” my father described in the third person his early profound religious experiences (“[a]s if he’d written John 21:25” himself), how for him, “making love was a continuous, collaborative art form,” and even included a suspiciously short list of his flaws, such as his ability to “speak truth to power” and “yell without rai…