​The headline for this column might be a bit confusing. It’s not about a tie that men wear professionally and how you change it. It’s about the tie used to secure cat litter bags.
 
Let me explain. When it comes to opening packages, I’m one of those “tear the crap out of it” kinda guys. Rip it open. Spill the contents. Use your teeth if you have to. Don’t worry about whether there’s a “correct” way to open a box you’ve received.

This, of course, can cause problems when manufacturers or packagers choose to throw you a curveball. Rather than making the container easy to open, they design it in such a way that you can’t figure it out, probably in an attempt to frustrate you and get you to yell at your spouse or kids, “HELP ME, or I’m gonna pop a blood vessel in more forehead.” I’ve had more than my share of moments like that over the years.

Typically, my wife is there to help. She quietly, easily and successfully opens the package perfectly, like it came straight from her DNA. My response is a “thank you,” and, “How the heck did you do that?”
 
She’ll show me, and then I know what to do. She should write directions for companies. She’d be a billionaire.
 
Our cat litter bag changed how it was to be opened about 6-7 years ago. Previously the litter was housed in a paper sack lined with a thin layer of plastic. You just ripped it open. My kinda product.
 
They changed to a full plastic bag soon after that and used a thread through the plastic that you had to locate and yank to rip off the top. It took me multiple sessions with my wife to absorb that lesson and get it down. Many new curse words emerged during that time period.

I mastered it though. I was comfortable. Life was good. Get rid of the old litter first thing Sunday mornings, pull out the fresh bag, rip the thread off, listen to the rippling sound as it popped off, pour the litter, put the little roof back on, and the cats are good for another week.

Until the manufacturers decided to go to a zip tie a few weeks back that looked exactly like their previous system but didn’t operate the same way. Problem. I carry the bag in, lay it down, fumble around with my cigar-like fingers and can’t for the life of me figure out what has changed. Of course, there is nothing written on the container to say, “WE HAVE A NEW ZIP TIE TO CONFUSE YOU SO YOU CAN’T OPEN THIS BAG THE SAME WAY YOU USED TO.”
 
Instead, you kneel in the half-light, trying to read the small print, unwilling to get your reading glasses, because, “DAMMIT, I CAN FIGURE THIS THING OUT.”
 
Learning doesn’t come about through osmosis. Sometimes it is successful through trial and error, which was the case this time, as I eventually found were the “pull” was that allowed me to rip the thread and pop open the bag.

I didn’t have to get my wife, so there’s some solace in that progress in my bag-opening life. Some day I’ll recognize and understand bag-opening changes instantaneously, and then I’ll know it’s time to retire and teach others the tricks of the trade.

​Several weeks back I got a Facebook message from a childhood friend. It was unexpectedly about my dad. This friend mentioned how our father had impacted him in a positive way.

A seemingly simple thing our dad (Herm) had done helped my friend out. Herm taught him how to throw a baseball. Such a simple thing. Yet it stood out 50 years later as something that meant a lot to this next-door neighbor who grew up with us on our dead-end street.
 
As a kid, you don’t think about what your father is “like.” He’s just there. Ours built the first home we lived in from the ground up with his father and his father-in-law, our mom, and some other relatives and friends. He worked hard at his job. He was there for us three boys, wrestling with us, showing us how to use tools and work in the yard, along with basic sports skills like how to kick a football (such an important life skill; 😊).
 
At the time, he was just our dad, someone who we listened to, had fun with, and respected for the lessons he delivered. But you didn’t think about him teaching you to throw a baseball or football.
 
The friend who posted to Facebook is not the only person from my childhood who has made points about Herm. Two other friends who I’ve caught back up with as life moved along have said during conversations with me how they remembered our dad helping them out in terms of learning sports skills, and MORE IMPORTANTLY, how that made them feel more prepared and confident in what they did.
 
You don’t think about those things as a kid. Instead, you look back as an adult and realize the effect someone had on your life, how you’ve been molded. Hopefully in a good and positive way.
 
“Teaching the fundamentals” is a simple notion. Figure out the basics. Do them well. Repeat. Build from there. If you have the foundation, the rest of the home is on a strong footing.
 
Herm built the foundation not only for us three brothers, but also for other kids who lived on our street and friends who came to visit us who lived farther away. Because he was there and available and gave of his time to us, we learned skills that stayed with us long after those joyous childhood backyard football and baseball games.

Because the friends raised these points to me about Herm, it’s gotten me thinking about the impacts we have on others throughout our lives and the importance in lending a hand, sharing something we know to help the next generation with their personal growth and ability to deal with a rapidly changing landscape.
 
The little things matter. Being there matters. Teaching a youngster a valuable skill matters.
 
When you learn the basics – how to properly hold and throw a baseball or football – you grab a foothold in your small world of childhood and are better able to participate and succeed in the games you play. Sharing that knowledge freely and selflessly pays back many times over.

I need only look back 50 years to hear from three friends who our dad impacted. And to this day they remember.