A Personal Reflection: This old tie that binds one generation to the next

By Louis A. Gamino | Columnist

I noticed something wrong as I knotted my tie. The soothing maroon fabric adorned with tiny blue and gray hexagons was marred by a tiny patch of white. Is that a smudge? A spot? In the rush for work, there was no time to change. I shifted the tie a bit off-center and tucked the offending area discreetly behind my collar. Satisfied that it looked passable, I didn’t think about it again until I got home that evening.
After removing the tie, closer inspection revealed the problem was not a spot. Rather, the fine silk threads had frayed in the “torque zone” where years of tying and untying had taken a toll on the delicate fabric. It was clear — the tie was worn out.
This verdict was not easy to accept. A haberdasher once told me, “A silk foulard is a perishable commodity,” meaning it will not wear forever. But this cravat was not just another necktie in my closet. It had a story to tell.
After I had earned a doctorate and landed a job as a clinical psychologist, I wanted to dress the part. I bought a full wardrobe of professional clothes early in my career. In the process, I had a few discussions about men’s fashion with my dad, who appreciated quality garments. However, he had too many other financial obligations with raising a large family to be a dapper dresser.
On one occasion, I turned the tables on dad and took him on a shopping trip to an upscale clothing store. With disposable income to spend and three decades of gratitude to express, I wanted to treat him.
Dad picked out a couple of fine cotton dress shirts he could wear to his state office job. Then we went to the tie display. He lingered a bit to sift through the options, perhaps savoring the moment as much as the choices.
“He’s paying for me this time,” he said to the clerk with a pride-in-my-son smile. After deliberating, he chose two silk ties that coordinated well with either a white or blue shirt. The frayed tie now draped in my hands was one of them.
After dad died in 2007, I asked my mother for the two neckties so I could have them as keepsakes. For the last several years, I have worn both these ties many times. Sometimes because they matched my shirt or slacks. Sometimes because I wanted to be reminded of dad. Sometimes both reasons. I was reluctant to part with this precious talisman.
I showed the problem to my wife, Marla, who is an accomplished costume designer and expert tailor. Knowing my sentimental attachment to the necktie, she offered a remedy. She could rip out the entire lengthwise seam, trim the lining, and re-crease the tie’s silk to create fresh edges and conceal the frays on the backside. There were no guarantees how this flaying and reshaping would turn out. It might look great or it might become a hopeless mess that would ruin what was left of the beloved tie.
As I considered this prospect, I thought of the human body. Age and wear will wrinkle skin, erode joints and fray the tissues of organs and vessels. Could a person be taken apart top to bottom, parts tightened, and then sewn back together to be better than before? No, probably not. Therefore, it seemed disrespectful to tear asunder a work of art — this necktie — under the pretense of refashioning it into an improved version of itself.
Instead, I decided to keep the tie as is and reserve it for those occasions when I most need a boost. In those honorary moments, I resort to the off-center placement to hide the fraying.
I still have the tie and, more importantly, the tie that binds my father and me in a continuing alliance, even all these years after his death.
Yet something still puzzled me. Why did this particular tie wear out? In my closet are dozens of other silk ties I have owned for years and worn countless times. None of them frayed like this one. Then the embedded truth hit me — wear is proportional to wear. If I did not wear this tie enough times to wear it out, dad did.
That realization took me back to love. Dad certainly wore that tie more often than I knew. It must have meant far more to him than I ever guessed. He probably thought of me when he wore it, just as I thought of him when I put it on. This old tie that binds is powerful enough to hold that love, regardless of its frayed and vulnerable state.
Consider the message this worn-out tie offers for Father’s Day. The gift of human life is a miracle so sublime that it contains a spark of divine love. That love brings out the very best in us when nurtured by attentive parents, doting grandparents, special relatives, dedicated teachers, friendly neighbors and true friends. A love that binds no matter how frayed our hearts or timeworn our hands. And when we pass it on, it never goes away.