Driving home, I was thinking
about telling you
(for the millionth time!)
that you need a shave.
My poor, hirsute, Italian boy.
You were just a child when I
had to purse my lips,
twist my face,
do strangely bizarre contortions
for our shaving lesson.
Here we are, five years later,
and my mind suddenly shouts,
You never taught him how to tie a tie!
And I am appalled at myself.
If your granddad were here,
he'd teach you how to weave a
Full Windsor, a Half Windsor, a Four in Hand.
He'd stand close enough so that
you'd breathe his scent of tobacco and Mennen,
and coffee or Scotch.
He's been gone 34 years today, though.
So I will buy you a tie soon,
and we'll learn this together.
I think God guides single mothers
as they fumble to knot a Half Windsor.
Edit: Right after I wrote that, I went to Larry's blog and saw a link to Don Miller's new book: To Own a Dragon - Reflections on growing up without a father. Maybe Carman's not too old for me to read out loud to him...