Patchwork

I learned the hard way many years ago about the importance of unknotting your necktie at the end of the day. This will come as no surprise to many of you, but there was a time when I could not tie a tie and had to rely on my father for the task. Therefore, once a tie was fitted with a suitable knot at the proper length, I would simply slip it over my head at the end of the day instead of undoing the knot. In time, all my ties were left hanging together all knotted up, which I learned in time was bad for the tie and shortened its life.

The fact that I had to replace all my ties isn’t all-bad, for what passed as fashionable in the late seventies and early eighties would get the wearer arrested today, either for disorderly conduct or disturbing the peace (depending upon the tie). Some looked like a patchwork quilt, others so loud and screaming for attention that they had to be silenced and put away.

Although fewer men don knots in a necktie when they get dressed up than they once did, there is still a time and a place where being a shade overdressed is better than choosing comfort over class. Wishing a new couple well on their day, in addition to honoring the dead by visiting the living requires, in my mind, getting dressed up for the event.

I have been inconsistent in following my own advice however. My desire to remain flexible and spontaneous in my daily schedule can often get in the way of proper planning. For instance, the other day I was caught, not with my pants down, but without a tie knotted up.

With no time to make up for poor planning, I threw on my coat and hopped in my truck and headed south. I didn’t know the deceased well, a hard-working military veteran who had provided for his family, but I did know his son. At least, I did forty years ago.

To say I could have been kinder then, a better friend and someone I could be proud of now is an understatement. Unfortunately, there is no going back to right wrongs. As time passes and scars remain, all we are left with is the opportunity to make amends and smooth out the wrinkles.

Entering the funeral home, I looked for the man I once knew. Forty years, although changing me outwardly, had still left a need for some inner peace. Across the room I spotted the man I had to come to see. With hat in hand, I introduced myself and allowed the moment to sink in.  He acknowledged that he wouldn’t have recognized me, and I admitted that much has changed over forty years.

“I’m sorry for everything,” I said, not wanting to get into too much detail on the day of his father’s funeral, but at the same time hoping that forgiveness could be granted.

“I’m also sorry for the loss of your father. He was a great man,” I continued.

“Yes, he was,” my friend said. “Maybe I’ll see you this summer,” he said with a smile.”

“I’d like that,” I said, with a knot in my throat as I choked up.