Photo Credit: Courtesy of Ron Ciancutti
Over the holidays this year my son finally mastered the art of tying a necktie. I was also around 15 or 16 when my dad taught me. We Ciancutti men wear a half-Windsor drawn very tight. There's nothing sloppier-looking than a big, loose top knot parked under a man's chin; it makes him look like he's wearing an ascot. Sammy nailed it on the third try before we headed off to a formal dinner. It’s been easier coaxing him into dressing up lately. His ever-increasing height (6 feet, 1 inch at the last check) has leaned his frame out nicely, and he's starting to appreciate the finer things, like well-made clothes and food beyond chicken and fries. His braces came off just before Thanksgiving, so the boy is definitely working on being the “total package,” as it were.
I hate to sound like an old timer, but wow, where did those 15 years go? I can barely recall when he wasn't even here. Then suddenly he was, and my wife and my lives were all about him, just like it changed with each of the previous kids except for one minor difference--Sam's the last one.
And like a guy about to retire from a company he loves, every “last thing” I do with Sam has much more significance because I have found being a father is the greatest honor of all. I recall reading an interview with Tip O’Neill, former congressional House Speaker, who said his last year on Capitol Hill was filled with people saying, “Ah, well—your last budget meeting, eh?” and “Oh, Tip, the last rap of the gavel, huh?” He said it drove him mad—all the constant sentimentality. So I’ll try not to tarry too long here, but I wouldn't be the writer you've come to know without reflecting at this juncture.