One day my nephews will stand at the mirror and grin as they slide up the ties they have knotted themselves.
Ties whose skinny tails they have not tucked into their pants to hide.
Nor shoved mysteriously between two buttons.
But for Thanksgiving, it is grandpa who ties.
Grandpa who measures and winds and whispers aloud the steps he’s muttered a million times.
Until he’s got a red Double Windsor.
That spiffs up a grandson just fine.