Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Knot Tying Impaired

I wasn't a Boy Scout.
I'm not a sailin' man by any means.
I like slip on shoes.

Face it. I'm not a knot head.

In fact, you might say I'm knot tying handicapped.

Show me a knot. Step-by-step. Slowly and carefully. I'll follow along, seemingly aware of the process.

I may even remember the knot. For awhile.

Then, quick as you can say, "Perils of Pauline," I'll have forgotten it.

My Father-in-law has a good head for knots. He ties some doozies that inspire awe and reverance everytime I watch him tie down a load in the back of his pickup, or secure some hard won auction items to the floor of his trailer.

My Dad was pretty good at knots too. I think my brother is just as impaired as I am, so that helps some.

The other day, my 6-year old taught me how to braid her hair. She grew weary of the "pony-tail" (single), "doggie-ears" (double pony tails), or the "just-worn-straight-down" styled varieties that my male hairstyling genes are capable of doing.

She felt I needed to expand my hair styling repertoire so... guided by the loving and patient hand of C, I dove into the dreaded braid.

Even though my knot tying impaired brain battled furiously in it's efforts to guide my stubby sausage digits to do the wrong thing, I eventually got it.

In theory.

Now I just need lots and lots and lots of practice. Good thing I have two daughters.

Next up, the French Braid. I may need to go back to Grad School for that one.

1 comment:

Jake said...

ahh, that brings back memories of when L and I were first married. She spent countless hours teaching me to braid her hair back when she wore it long. In the end I got pretty good at it, but she learned that she had to rotate her head a bit to the right while I was braiding because I could never center the darn thing.

She always used to say, "I'll never understand how a man that repairs [movement style] watches and precision measuring instruments can't make a clump of hair do what he wants."