A Crooked Tie

My tie is crooked.

I’m on my way to a funeral.

My baby girl thought my tie was delightful and wanted to play with it. I think she thought her daddy was wearing a bib like she does.

I’m late for the funeral, and my tie is crooked.

I’m always late. I hope to be late to my own funeral. A few minutes earlier I held my laughing baby as she played with my tie. Now I’m headed to a funeral with a crooked tie. Now I’m thinking about time.

I measure distances in time. How long will it take me to get there is always my question. Miles and kilometers aren’t my measurements because they don’t matter when compared to time. Time is our only commodity. Time is all we have, until we don’t have it any more. Time is fleeting. Time is precious. Time passes.

My tie is crooked, but today I beheld the joy on my baby girl’s face while she played with my tie. She has her mother’s smile. For that smile I have all the time in the world.

My tie is crooked, my time is all I have, and I give it to my daughter and my wife.

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