Is this the little boy?
Reggie’s school band went to a two-day trip for a Jazz Festival out of town. Since his class was performing on the first day, he had to wear his concert attire before he left this morning. He wore a black suit, white shirt inside and a maroon necktie. I helped him with his tie. Oh yeah, I know how to do a necktie. I attended Imus Institute during my first two years of high school and the girls’ all white uniform included a navy blue necktie monogrammed with the letters I.I.
This morning, I told Reggie to sit on the bed while I do his tie for he is much taller than me. It was a very tender moment. I seldom have a one-on-one contact with him now. I turned up the collar of his shirt, wrapped the tie around, bound it twice, and told him to lift up his chin so that I could tie the thing neatly around his collar. He must have felt awkward and he just lifted his chin a tiny bit, eyes on the floor, trying to avoid looking at me.
Is this the little boy I carried? He’s almost a grown up now. I couldn’t help staring at the soft moustache growing sparsely on his upper lip, his carefully moussed hair, and his head that is bigger than mine.
When he threw on the black suit, which Tito Ronnie gave him, he looked like a mama, a gentleman. I had to have his picture taken. I asked him if I should wake up his Dad to help him with his things – a backpack, a light luggage and his saxophone. He said, “No, I don’t need help.”
I watched him by the window as he walked to school until I could no longer see him.