When I was seven or eight years old, I got it into my head that I really, really, really wanted to sew. And knit. And crochet. And like any eight year old with a dream, I wouldn’t let my mom hear the end of it. So like the amazing mom she was, she took me to the library and together we found books about sewing, knitting, and crocheting, and we learned together.
My mom, with no experience, gave me the world through books and a little trial and error. We made pillow cases, pajama pants, skirts, halloween costumes, at least one formal dress, and a quilt together. As I learned knitting and crochet, the yarn bucket we had gained a small bag full of error projects. My grandmother got a tiny little knitted kite that still hangs on her bedroom wall. I remember making lots of horrendous looking squares and circles as blankets and rugs for my barbies, and at least one striped bag that stuck around as a project for way too long.
The one problem I encountered was my age: I was too little at eight and nine to take any sewing classes, which usually start accepting students at age 10. But nevertheless, an exception was made for me at my homeschool co-op and I got to be in the quilting class, where I made a log cabin quilt (with a lot of help from my mom!).
Even after I was old enough to take classes, I continued to not meet other people my age interested in my hobbies; as it turns out, other eleven year olds aren’t into knitting groups. I remember spending at least one afternoon in the company of six or seven elderly ladies while crocheting a stocking hat. They thought the way I was doing it was weird and didn’t hesitate to say so, and now that I look back, it totally was weird (I was making it a flat piece instead of making it in the round).
Tactile hobbies bring people together in weird ways, and I’m thankful for all the time I spent around elderly women and other fans of knitting and crocheting (my library growing up had a fantastic knitting group with more of a middle aged appeal). I really learned how to listen, and how to appreciate people older than me.
In my freshman year of college, a friend expressed interest in learning how to knit. I challenged her to bring needles and yarn to class and I would show her. I had completely forgotten all about it, but I ran into her this semester because we’re in a class together, and she reminded me that I taught her to knit. Now she enjoys making all kinds of knitting projects, and has moved way beyond that first early morning when we sat down to learn casting on stitches.
I received an email on January 9th this year with the subject “In search of a knitting guru.” It read: “Wanna knit? I need help. I don’t know how to end my scarf.” A certain precocious peer received knitting materials from his grandmother, and had watched me work through a sweater last semester during class (it’s still not finished…). We sat down together for an hour and he figured out how to end off while I quizzed him on his inter-discipline major direction.
One of my close friends absolutely loves knitting and one of the things we do together is work on our projects while discussing the difficulties of life. Some of those conversations are my most treasured memories from college. She is a lot more advanced and adventurous than I am with knitting, so it’s always inspiring to see what she’s working on (she was the mastermind behind the sweater I am currently working on).
Another friend of mine came over once and worked on her embroidery while I struggled on the floor cutting out curtain sizes (straight lines are truly annoying, but satisfying if done correctly). Yet another friend, I discovered, knows how to embroider and gave me handmade towels with day-of-the-week mice embroidered on them.
College, surprisingly, has been a place where I’ve actually met people my age doing the things I love to do. And it’s been super fun to have a skill that brings people together, creates awesome things, and is just fun to do. I look forward to many more years of sewing, knitting, and crocheting, and to think that all this came about because of a few library books and some motherly determination (and nagging on my part of course). I'm not condoning nagging parents, just don't give up on your dreams, okay?