WF
MY TURN
Tying One On
I By Anita Brienza
was seven,
knees tucked
up into
my nightgown,
leaning against the
headboard of my
parents’ unmade bed.

I would drift into their
room some mornings
while my father got
ready for work. He was
handsome and tidy; his thick
black hair tamed with Brylcreem,
Old Spice floating with every step,
shiny black wingtips laced up tight. The
tie went on last, and I asked my question
before he looped it around his collar.

“It’s easy,” he said. That morning, I learned
the four-in-hand method, and for the next week, I
tried it on all my mother’s scarves, helpfully hanging
them from the hooks in her closet.

In the ‘70s, during my “Annie Hall” phase, I used Dad’s
lesson again on thrift-store ties. I pulled the wide end down
long on the right with the shorter skinny end on the left. Wide
over skinny side – twice – then wide end through the loop and
tighten the knot. So easy.

Whole decades went by when there were no ties that
needed my expert touch — until I did some volunteer
work with an organization that raises people out of
challenging circumstances.

The clothes, furniture and housewares they collected
and distributed were in pristine condition. When
they were helping to furnish a client’s home, they
pulled entire rooms of furniture together that were
aesthetically pleasing. They took the same approach
with clothing, which was displayed as if in an upscale
department store.

My first assignment was to help a group of men with
forthcoming job interviews select the right outfits.

They were cheerful and polite — recently released from
prison, excited about new clothes and the possibility of
employment. One of my clients
was Darius, only
19. He had sad
eyes and close-
cropped hair, and
I stood nearby as
he chose a navy
suit and two pastel
shirts. When he
walked over to the
tie rack, he paused
uncertainly, looking
but not touching. I joined
him, pulled two prints that
went well with his choices
and said, “Why don’t you try
on all of the pieces together and see
how they look?”
“I’ve never had a suit before.” He hesitated
and, almost in a whisper, said, “I don’t know how
to tie a tie.”
“Oh!” I said. “Watch this!” I slipped the ties around
my neck, showed him how to loop and loop again, slip the
wide end through and knot them. Then I loosened them and
handed them over.

Darius walked into the dressing room. I heard him kick
off his sneakers and the rustle of jeans being exchanged for
softer fabric. He tried both shirts and ties on with the suit,
coming out each time to show me. His transformation
was a happy shock to us both.

“You look good, Darius,” I said. “Really sharp.” He
smiled and nodded at me, one quick modest dip of the
chin, then into the dressing room to change clothes in
reverse. He came out with his suit, shirts and ties on
hangers. One tie could be slipped over his head and
tightened, but the other was undone.

I thought of my father, and how he would smile
when I told him that his quick lesson one morning
before he left for work reached a young man years
later who needed it, too.

“I’m gonna keep one like this,” Darius said,
running his hand over the shirt with its still-knotted
tie. Then he pointed to the shirt with the loose tie.

“And I’ll practice on that one.” n
34 Washington FAMILY JUNE 2021
TIE: KENISHIROTIE; FATHER/DAUGHTER: ZGEL / ISTOCK / GETTY IMAGES PLUS
“Is it hard to tie a tie?”



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