Simple Things

So I had written a piece of idiots at the bank, and was going to post it for you all, but something happened that changed my mind...


Today, I received a call from a job in Alabama. I am going for a tour of their facilities tomorrow! And, I have a phone interview on Friday morning! Well, I am currently visiting my mom in SC, and all of my interview outfits are at my townhouse in Mississippi, so I scrambled around my wardrobe here for something presentable. I settled on a sleek pair of grey denim jeans and a white and blue paisley top with black shoes and a black belt. I will look put together, but not overdone. It isn't a traditional "interview" outfit, but I think it will fit the situation.


My mom, however, insisted at first that I needed something more traditional. She preferred a black top striped with silver instead of the paisley. She was also insistent that I wear a tie. Again, my ties are in Mississippi, so I turned to my father's tie collection.


For those of you who don't know, my father passed away last summer. It was from complications due to an accident - completely out of the blue, and as Sarah Ruhl might say, "all at once, in cowboy boots." I feel my father's presence with me most days - especially when I visit the house in SC. Sometimes I don't even realize he's gone; I stopped myself the other day from walking into his bedroom, because I wanted to know what he was doing.


This evening, however, I found myself face to face with his tie collection. I found a tie that I really liked. I don't ever remember my dad wearing it, but I remember it being his. It's black with a field of tiny polkadots - slate, sage, and gold - all in lines, almost forming patterns. It went perfectly with my paisley shirt, and as I tied it around my neck I recalled a rather poignant moment.


A night or two before my father's accident (it may have even been a week, but it seems like it was closer), I was visiting my parents in SC, and I ran out of the bathroom showing off a freshly tied tie. I showed my dad, and he said: "It's about time," with that sarcastic smirk he always had, and turned back toward the television. It was such a simple moment, a simple thing; how was I to know it would end up having so much meaning.


I could never tie a tie. No matter how many times Daddy showed me, I just couldn't do it. It eluded me, confused me, and I could never end up getting it right. For years I had him tie them for me; I kept them in my closet already tied, and cursed if someone or something untied them. I grew to hate ties, never wanted to wear them unless I felt it necessary. Then, on the eve of his death - in the last hours of his life - something clicked, and I was able to show him my tie.


It's the simple things. The simple things - like tying a tie - hold a person close to you. It's these things that make us human, make us love, and make us remember.

I chose not to wear a tie tomorrow, and to wear the paisley top. The other outfits looked too hot, too uncomfortable for Alabama in the summer, and my mom agreed. She thought it was all too much too. And, as I took the tie off, I couldn't help but think - Daddy would feel the same way, but he'd be proud I can still tie a tie.

Hold on to the simple things.