Truth be told, I said a lot of bad words in the 45 minutes it took me to tie the garish bowtie. The frustration started with the YouTube bowtie expert, who opened his tutorial by saying, “People think tying a bowtie is harder than tying a regular tie. It is not.”
“It is! Screw you!” I yelled at the video, as my bowtie knotted up again under my clumsy fingers. It was beat. Weary. Twisted and crimped. This bowtie was meant to impress, not wrestle.
But the clock was ticking. The memorial service started soon, and I was determined to wear this ribbon of color and chaos properly for Michael.
Some background:
I have a long and uneasy history with bowties. Years ago, I participated in an American Cancer Society fundraiser during Breast Cancer Awareness Month (October) in which I had to wear a pink bowtie and then encourage local dignitaries to do the same. These were REAL bowties, not sissy clip-ons.
My team leader hooked me up with an expert. He came in, did some ninja moves and – BAM! – he had a properly tied bowtie. And, like the evil YouTube tutor, he claimed it was easy. Then I got home and … it’s that last push through the delicate loop in the back that gets me every time.
I got through Pink Bowtie Season with a few successes. Then I gleefully placed my bowtie on a rack and bid it farewell. But every now and then, a special occasion will inspire me to grab a bowtie and enter the octagon again.
There are moments when the mission is too important to abandon.
Such was the case for Michael, a friend in North Carolina who loved theater, history, travel, teaching, adventure and looking very, very sharp. He sometimes wore kilts to celebrate his Scottish heritage. He ate haggis, drove cross-country for kicks, tended bar at local pubs, played Gomez Adams in “The Adams Family,” the musical, and traveled with the positive, love-peace-and-unity performance troupe Up With People.
When he died, stunned family and friends encouraged mourners to wear something with character and color to the service.
His death was a shock. He was a force of nature who hugged non-huggers and told everybody, “I love you, my friend.” And everybody loved Michael. The church was packed with those friends, and they all walked numbly, the weight of the loss heavy, sudden and so very sad.
When I was packing for the trip to North Carolina, I noticed a bowtie I had purchased on a whim at Goodwill. It depicted children – drawn by children – of many nationalities. It was an explosion of color and unity, perfect for an Up With People alum who knew how to tie bowties.
I started tying the bowtie more than an hour before the service, knowing the cage match would be tough with a deadline. The same pattern emerged: I would get through steps 1-5 fine, but step 6 – that hidden back loop that relied on nimble fingers and muscle memory – stymied me.
I gave up three times, flinging the crumbled bowtie in the suitcase and clawing for other options. I would step away, think of Michael and retrieve the bowtie for another round. After 45 minutes of struggle, I looked at my flustered face in the mirror and said, “OK, last try. Michael, feel free to help here, buddy.”
He must have heard me. The last piece of the bowtie finally squeezed through that heinous loop. I got to the church on time and sat among slackers with neck ties.
Sometimes, all you need is a deep breath and inspiration/intervention from a friend who would love you no matter what nasty chuck of chaos hangs from your neck. I will wear that bowtie again. It is now my favorite. And each time I wear it, I will think of Michael the last time we saw him – wearing a tuxedo at a Great Gatsby-themed dog birthday party.
The tux’s centerpiece: A perfectly tied bowtie, of course.
