My 7th-grade son is getting ready to attend his friend Ethan’s bar mitzvah. So in addition to the new black pants, the belt, and the ironed, pinstriped shirt, I have to do that dad thing where I tie his tie in front of the mirror. I notice that his hair is combed to perfection. So I get the knot just right, tighten it up, check the length, that’s good, button down the collar — there you go, my handsome devil, you’re good to go.
He calls to me from the mud room, “Do I have to wear nice shoes?”