AS I’VE grown older, I’ve come to the realization that we never stop learning. Learning about life. Learning about ourselves.

I graduated high school more than a decade ago, and it’s been more than five years since I picked up my degree from West Liberty one chilly December afternoon.

But as the weeks go by, I seemingly learn something new about myself all the time.

A big realization hit me earlier this week, one that seems so easy to grasp but a discovery that has taken me 30 years to fully understand

”The way you act around the ones you fully trust is your true self.”

I came upon this realization while partaking in one of what has become numerous trips into the backyard swimming pool with my nearly 3-year-old daughter.

It’s just one of those “rise as you fill” pools, only 8-feet around and 3-feet deep. It’s not going to attract the neighborhood, but it gives me a chance to cool off and her a place to learn the basics of swimming before advancing to deeper or more dangerous waters.

I keep it filled with various pool toys to keep us entertained, goggles, balls, diving sticks, etc.

One of her developing favorite activities is to take one of the foam-filled balls and goad me into playing fetch with her.

”C’mon, daddy puppy, go get it,” she playfully exclaims, pleading me on with a beaming smile.

I begrudgingly sound my agreement with a quick bark and stick out my tongue, panting like an energetic puppy waiting for my best friend to let the ball fly.

She throws. I dive. I retrieve the ball with my teeth and in sticking with the theme, doggy-paddle back to her, dropping the ball back in front of her. This continues or a few toss and retrieves before we switch roles and she now wants to give chase.

All the while, I’m thinking to myself that this is a far cry from the public persona I display when I step out that front door.

But it’s not the only example.

I love music, but detest dancing. It’s partly because of my lack of grace in moving to rhythm and partly because of what public perception might be of my aforementioned lack of skill.

But when it’s just the two of us, I’ll leap and dance around like I was auditioning for the next Broadway musical.

I’ll sing, I’ll dance, I’ll make a complete goof of myself. She laughs, naturally, which is all the reinforcement I need to continue with the impromptu buffoonery.

This may be just a parental instinct to do anything and everything to make your child laugh, but I think it’s more than that.

Our kids, especially at that young age, love us unconditionally. There is no judgment in their eyes, only wonder and appreciation.

It’s in that gaze where we can truly be ourselves, without fear or ridicule.

In the newsroom, I generally keep quiet and to myself. I’ve always been of the opinion you learn a lot more by listening to others than droning on about yourself. Plus, it helps keep me focused.

There’s no way I would repeat the antics from our house here at work. I can just imagine if I burst out in song near deadline and started jumping around like a wild man.

But at home, I’m free to be, what I’m slowly beginning to realize, is me.

Whether by myself or with my daughter, I’m free to unleash my inner goof, always on the lookout for a quick laugh and a smile.

I know I can’t be the only person who acts with reservations depending on who they are around, most certainly at work, but also with family and friends, too.

I imagine for each of us, there is only a select few who truly know who we really are. They only know a large piece of the puzzle, but not all of it.

And that’s not something I see changing anytime soon. Most people, myself included, aren’t willing to put their full personality out on display for the all to see.

If they did, I bet everyday life would be a lot more fun. Work would likely come to a grinding halt, but the fun factor would be on the upswing.

I know there will come a time when my goofy antics will be met with a half-cocked stare of confusion and mild embarrassment. But until that day comes, I’m going to fully enjoy my new role of physical comic.

Fetch, daddy, fetch.

Hughes may be reached at mhughes@timesleaderonline.com