I remember being at Camp Joy in Boy Scouts and going to knot-tying class that insisted you name your knot — was there with a dad named Jim — my buddy Andy’s dad. And we all sat around and tied our knots and Jim was working his way with a knot in the back of the makeshift amphitheater, all of those hand-planed benches on stumps holding our weight. And Jim’s a working and a working and we’re all making our little half hitches and square knots, naming them because the man wanted us to name them. I probably named mine fluffy or something, who knows. Leo. Tucker. Captain Ahab.

And we go around the whole circle and it finally comes to Jim 

“Well Jim?” asks the camp counselor.

And Jim holds high his hangman’s noose and says, “I call him Clyde.”