You’ve heard of standing on ceremony, but sitting?

Come sit with me in the blue chair and you’ll see what I’m talking about when I say sitting on ceremony.

But first, I hear the water stop running in the only shower on the other side of my bedroom. Give it a beat, and Dad walks by.

“Give me 10, no make it 15, then I could use your help.”

I look at the red digital clock, which reads 4:10. I get lost in homework while the minutes tick away, and then it’s 4:19. I put down my pen. It’s game time—almost. Wait that one extra minute. 4:20.

Pre-Game on.

I walk to Mom and Dad’s room and pause by the full-length mirror—the same one where I’d play dress up and pretend to be a star in my own commercials.

Synchronized perfectly with my arrival, the buzz of the hair dryer in the adjoining room stops.

I yell out to Dad, “I’m here.”

“Sit down. Give me a minute.”

I settle in by the front window in the blue swivel chair and prop my legs on the footrest.

Seeing my reflection once more—this time along with the lights on the black TV screen in front of me—Dad appears.

Was the music already on, or did he turn it on just for me? Or was it different every time?

The music’s on, whatever it is, and he’s in his t-shirt and pants framing the doorway like a backup singer. Swaying in place, he has a serious look in his eyes—usually it involves squinting and squeezing them shut like he just ate a lemon. Then he’d pretend to sing, lip-syncing mum, mum, mum as if he knew the lyrics.

Oh, right, the tie—we almost forgot this is what I came for.

I follow him into the closet.

I loved that closet—it had two rooms, one leading to another. The first section had cabinets, and the second room had hanging clothes. He’d be figuring out what shirt to wear in the back while I opened the cabinet and looked through the tie rack.

It smelled of his All Spice aftershave and that musty scent that he wore. And I could have stood in there forever just smelling that smell.

I found one buried in the back of the tie rack, and he’d say, “I forgot I even had that one.”

He liked all his ties, or at least the ones I picked out for him.

Then I’d go and sit back down—this time on the edge of their bed. There wasn’t much time left before he’d come back out. He’d wrap his tie in two swoops, pause mid-sway, and knot it.

He’d peek in the mirror — just in case — though it never needed adjusting.

And that final look in the mirror meant it was time.

He’d ask me if I’d like to keep the stereo on, and I’d say no. It’s not as fun crooning solo—we both knew that. He’d make one last encore for me now that he had his audience.

It was still daylight, and we had just a few hours before the darkness would set in, and it would be our turn to go.

But first, I’d follow him downstairs and meet up with Mom at the front door to wish him good-bye and good luck.

He always parked his car outside the front door.

He’d get in, and we’d switch places. It was his turn to sit on ceremony while we stood.

“Say good-bye to your sister for me.”

And we’d yell and wave, “Will do. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The music hung in the air.