If any of my peers growing up did hand-crafts, they never admitted it in public. It seemed that the socially acceptable way to establish a sense of self worth was through traveling soccer teams, prom courts, and AP coursework. To pursue a vocation that involved making something with one’s hands, whether in a shop class, a home economics class, or simply by way of personal pursuit, in my hyper-socially aware teenage mind, could potentially brand a young scholar as a loser. When I skulked up to the next farm and asked Ruth, the matron, to show me how to crochet, I hid the yarn and hook away in my room as though they were pornography. I never learned how to do more than the chain stitch.
I was thirty before I worked up the courage to walk into a yarn shop and purchase a set of rosewood needles and a skein of wool. Still unable to admit the appeal of fiber to myself, I ostensibly bought them for Bob, who had once confessed to me that he thought knitting was pretty cool, and that he’d like to know how to do it.
Bob promptly and repeatedly found himself tangled up in the yarn. In an effort to assist him, I looked over the instructions and attempted to follow them myself. I wound up staying up past midnight, thrilling in the victory that came with mastering the garter stitch, realizing that I suddenly had power in my hands to do amazing things – to make toys and clothing. That new-found confidence led me to re-discover our family’s sheep flock, to realize that there was more value to these woolly creatures than the yield grade in the butcher shop.
Thus, in spite of the stigma I associated with hand-crafts in my early years, Saoirse and Ula have grown up beside a knitting basket. I take it on car trips, keep it under the table at the farmers’ market for when business is slow, dash off a couple of rows while I share a morning cup of coffee with Bob, and use it in place of a cocktail to unwind in the evenings. A few years ago, Saoirse came to me and asked me to teach her. After she had spent a few months mastering finger knitting, I put her in my lap, wrapped my arms around her, and showed her how to cast on. For a brief period she would take to picking up her knitting whenever she saw me doing it. Within a month or so, she grew bored of it, but resumed with fervor last year when she realized that she had the power within her hands to complete some pretty neat projects.
And while Saoirse had begun learning to knit and weave, Ula figured out how to use scissors. Her little toddler fingers would be unable to resist her big sisters’ wool, and not knowing what else to do with string, she did the only thing she could: cut it. As soon as any of us were distracted with something else, that clever girl would chop Saoirse’s knitting yarn into 6-inch segments, snip unfinished weaving projects off the loom, slice through a square of Saoirse’s carefully formed garter stitches. There is a reason that she has earned the nickname “Little Shiva” among our neighbors.
Ula started first grade this year. And in planning out our school year, I asked my Little Shiva if she would like to learn how to knit. She gazed at me as though I had produced the world’s biggest lollipop for her personal delight. “Yes!” she exclaimed, hopping up and down.
We started last Sunday when I gave each girl her new school books and materials. Saoirse got a stack of books, a beading kit, a pair of new moccasins and some walnut ink. Ula got a small I-can-Read library, a pair of purple moccasins, and then I presented her with the rosewood needles I first used, along with a large basket filled with yarn, from which she could choose her very own skein. Bursting with excitement, she held it in her hands, squeezed it with her little fingers, touched it to her cheek.
I showed her how to open the skein, and instructed Saoirse to hold out her hands so that she could keep the yarn from getting tangled while Ula wound it into a ball. I promised Ula that, once she wound her yarn, we would start later that week.
Something strange happened as she worked. The ball dropped a few times, unwinding as it rolled away. Ula grew increasingly emotional. “I can’t do it,” she finally cried out, tears in the corners of her eyes.
“Of course you can,” I said, sitting down to help her. As we worked together to wind the rest, Ula grew more distressed. Her breathing started to get more shallow, tears began to pour out her eyes. “Sweetheart,” I said, “we don’t have to do this now.”
“No, I want to.” But now the tears were coming in a steady stream.
“I think we’ve done enough for today. Let’s put this away.”
“No!” But then, a few minutes later, she threw the yarn on the floor, and wailed “I don’t want to learn how to knit anymore!”
I wound the last few strands around her ball and tried to think fast. Ula had said she wanted this. Just the day before, she had been bubbling to her Grammie that she was going to learn to knit in homeschool this year. Was it possible that simply winding the wool was too much for her? Was I wrong to let her try this?
Suddenly, I realized we were in dangerous territory. If Ula walked away in tears at this moment, she was going to conclude that she couldn’t knit, that she would never be able to do it. She might see herself only as Little Shiva, unable to balance her destructive force with the ability to create.
Now, knitting, in and of itself, is not necessary for survival in this world. But it is a valued activity in our home. Furthermore, I understand the tactile attraction of a skein of wool. I watch customers walk by at the farmers’ market, where my yarn is displayed. Children and grown-ups alike stop to put their hands on the wool, to sink their fingers between the individual strands of string. Most of them admit to me that they haven’t the first clue about how to knit or crochet. Their fingers crave contact with the lush softness, but they feel powerless to transform the raw material into something beautiful and useful.
Ula didn’t need to become a full-fledged knitter. But she needed to know, when her fingers were drawn to something as sensually pleasing as a skein of wool, that she was empowered to engage with it. It was fine if she decided that she didn’t like knitting. But if we stopped at this moment, she was going to conclude that she couldn’t knit. If I postponed lessons to another day, she would carry a memory of failure with her, and would be even more resistant to trying again. This was a knitting emergency. She needed to walk away successful. I could not let her tears stop her progress. In my mind, I cancelled every activity I had planned for the morning. The garden didn’t need weeding or watering. Lunch could come late. Phone calls didn’t need to be returned.
I pulled her into my lap and just held her, not saying anything. When she had calmed down, I asked her if she would just let me show her how I cast on. “You don’t need to do it today,” I lied, “It’s just that this ball of yarn is so beautiful, I really want to do it. So I might as well show you.” She placidly let me pry the ball from her fingers and drop it into a basket. I held out my hand, wrapped the wool around my thumb and slid the needle through. I did it a few more times.
“Can I try?”
We cast on 15 stitches that morning. Upon finishing, she eagerly asked, “Can you show me how to knit now? Today? Please?” I showed her how to slide one needle under the other, to wrap the yarn around, to pull it through the stitch, to slide it off the needle. “Under, around, through, and off,” we began chanting together. We knit a row together.
“Ok, that’s enough for today.” I said, satisfied that we were through the emergency.
“Please? Can we do just one more row?” So we did one more. That was followed by “Please? Can we do just one more row?” And so we did another. And another.
Finally, I persuaded her it was time to put the knitting down. She ran and found her sister. “Saoirse! I can knit!” She ran and found her father. Flinging her arms around his waist she cried out “Daddy! I can knit!” She announced it to the neighbors, to her best friend, to her grandparents. She took to carrying her knitting basket around the house. She took it to bed with her. What a huge shift from my own childhood experience, of hiding away my attempts to crochet.
Watching her new enthusiasm, I think about all the things we consider most urgent in our education system. Children are now supposed to be reading and doing arithmetic before the end of kindergarten. They are supposed to be able to tell time and read calendars before they develop a sense of the passing hours or observe changes in the phases of the moon. They are supposed to be able to navigate the world wide web before they understand their cardinal directions. I won’t argue that all these skills don’t have value. But not today. Not for Ula. Not in the first grade. What matters most to me right now is that she learns that she can make something beautiful, whether that is a simple song, a crayon drawing, or a row of knitting. And from the pride that emanates from her little body as she sits in my lap with her knitting, I am certain that is what matters most to her, too.
This post was written by Shannon Hayes, author of
Precious example of what really matters…how to go about creating a good experience for a child.
Oh my what a loving mother you are, and your decision to keep going in the knitting was indeed a wise one. And I think knitting is a valuable skill- nothing better than good wool sweaters and socks in winter for a chilly house.
That you postponed the morning chores to give Ula your full attention is a great gift that will last her a lifetime. As one of 10 kids, my mother never spent that kind of time with us. I realize I’ve said this before, but if everyone raised their children the way you guys do this world would be healthier, happier, and much more peaceful!
Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous! I love the way you handled the emergency, the way you stayed loving and patient. What a wise choice!
I learned to knit when I was Ula’s age, and at first, I hated it because I’m so impatient. I stuck with it and soon produced crooked scarves and pillow covers with holes in them (dropped stitches). I stuck with it, and when I was 13 made complicated sweaters. I now am an obsessive compulsive knitter, and I have a business selling my own hand painted, hand spun yarn, as well as my own hand knit hats and accessories.
I HAVE to knit every day – it’s my therapy. So it really makes me happy to see children knit! I taught my two sons to knit, and my three year old daughter will learn as soon as she wants to. Good for you, Ula! Keep knitting!
What a wise momma you are. This makes me want to go find my knitting needles and crochet hooks which I haven’t touched in a very long time. I relate to the love of feeling luxurious wool in my hands! I feel sorry for the large number of children who are never given the opportunity to create with their hands. I believe it should be considered a “child right”!!:) Thanks for always inspiring me to be a better person with your posts. I’m now thinking of what creative skill I could pass along to the almost 4 year old who is in my charge this year!
Despite being occasional teased and called “Becky Home-Ecky”, from an early age I had a passion for many traditional “female” crafts, and I never, ever felt compelled to hide it from anyone.
In fact, my whole life I have often carried a current project or two with me to make good use of any idle time, protesting strongly to anyone who dared to call me “domestic” that I was decidedly NOT domestic – domestic to me means liking to clean and do housework as a hobby – I am anything but domestic – creative, independent, yes, and definitely liberated enough to “choose” to pursue a traditionally female handcraft if I so chose. The minute such a pursuit was demanded or expected of me, I declared my intent to drop it. As a young woman I relished KIP (knitting in public), wearing my business suits in the late 80s and early 90s, often knitting in airports, sometimes even in hotel bars on work trips – always hearing I “didn’t look like a knitter”. I was a bit of a rebel with a knitting cause, I guess. Now that knitting is popular with young women again and has acquired a more hip image, I am now old enough to be a grandmother (51 yoa), and I miss that rebellious feeling I got from defying society’s image of knitting as an expectant mother’s or grandmother’s craft or otherwise a decidedly anti-feminist pursuit.
My mom resisted giving me a Barbie for many years because she didn’t think Barbie dolls were good role models for young girls (it was the late 60s-early 70s). I eventually did get a Barbie in 5th grade (because I never wanted to play at home anymore because the Barbies were at my friends’ houses), but by that time I was less interested in playing Barbie than I was with sewing for Barbie from my mother’s fabric scrap drawer. My attitude was – if you can make pants to fit Barbie, you can make anything!
I’ll forever feel fortunate that despite the decline in girls learning traditional skills in the 60s and 70s, my mother provided opportunities and materials for all three of her daughters to try many handcrafts and make whatever interested us (she also insisted we learn to cook for ourselves and take typing in high school – not so that we’d become secretaries or domestic drudges, but to have life skills that fostered independence, thrift, and well-being). My younger sisters were also given opportunities to sew, knit, embroider, etc. but they ultimately headed in different directions – one towards painting and sculpting, the other to woodworking. I was the one who went nuts for the textile crafts – sewing, crocheting, weaving potholders, embroidery, and to a lesser extend, knitting. I received a refurbished vintage sewing machine for Christmas when I was in 3rd grade. I was so proud of the red with white pinstripe pull-on trousers I made under my mother’s tutelage in 4th grade – the pin stripes even matched up with precision along the side seams – I’ll never forget wearing them for the first time on a family trip to NYC – I thought they were so snazzy! The vintage sewing machine only sewed a straight stitch, so later I learned to manage without a zig zag stitch by making bound buttonholes, welt pockets, and French finished seams. I recycled old jeans into purses & bike bags, made up my own crochet patterns to avoid the dated looking commercial patterns, and embroidered rose vines up the back legs of my jeans.
Sewing, crocheting, and cross stitch were my prime hobby interests throughout high school, college, and well into young adulthood – my ability to creatively make things was always a much bigger part of my self-identity than my occupation when I was in the workforce. And if it wasn’t for my sewing skills I wouldn’t have had much of professional wardrobe when I began to work full time.
Knitting was one of the few textile crafts I tried early that didn’t “stick” with me until much later (crochet was easier to learn and improvise, whereas knitting has a steeper learning curve, so I went for the easier success I guess). I was 28 or 29 when I learned to knit again, from a fantastic teacher at the craft center of the university where I worked. From then on knitting has been my primary craft passion (along with handspinning and handmade felt). For about 6 years I even worked P/T in a local yarn-fiber arts store as a fun way to feed my habit, and now I have enough yarn to insulate a house.
However, despite being surrounded by yarn and knitting his entire life, my only child, a son who started high school today, has consistently resisted my every effort to teach him to knit or do anything with textiles. Fair enough. He did build a gaming PC this summer with some help from his dad (we will have to say we “used to be” a Mac family, too). As long as he is making something…
You are such a fine teacher, Shannon. You so get the priorities about what is important to learn first, and how to teach.
I am quite moved by the picture of Ula on your lap knitting. It’s not what she’s doing but what you’re NOT doing. Most mother/daughter pictures like this show Mom’s arms around on both sides of the child ready to jump in to correct. Your hands are retracted, one is at ease at her side, and you are letting Ula find her own rhythm. I see how closely you watch and can instruct, but you respect your child’s way-finding with her hands.
How very fine!
Oh thank you, Shannon. I recently had a similar experience with my 1st grader- except it was with drawing (something I do and something I want my children to do), and I didn’t react with your poise. I let him go away from his drawing, still feeling like he couldn’t draw because I felt like I might be causing more trauma by making him stay and work with me. I have been feeling defeated about drawing, but I am re-inspired, and we’ll try again!
As we move forward in this life, I’m getting closer and closer to,thinking I will homeschool our kids, too. Your posts are always so much about what I want our kids to be doing, too. Thank you.
Briton, I actually had a similar experience with drawing last year. I took Ula into my lap and cuddled her a bit, then followed the Oak Meadow method of strategic questioning to coach her through. …I would ask things like “that us a beautiful girl, is she standing in a snowstorm ? “. When Ula said “no,” I would innocently say, “oh, I thought it was snowing, because the page is all white ,” and she would proceed to talk to me more about her drawing, and then add more details. I have also learned that any of the creative pursuits require my equal participation. If she is making a crayon drawing for school, I sit beside and draw one, too. It gives her ideas to copy(which is important for her right now ) and models taking time and enjoyment of the process. Oh. And it is fun and deeply relaxing. “Sorry, can’t come to the phone right now. I’m coloring.”
Thanks, Shannon. That’s a good strategy to keep him interested- I’ll need to look up more about the Oak Meadow method, too, as i’m not familiar with it. He brought home a drawing for me yesterday that shows he’s still interested in detailed drawing, so we’ll get back to it. And your point about modeling is really good- I often model “in a hurry” and “can’t do that right now”- what a good reminder to slow down and engage!
Good luck, Britton, and sorry about the misspelling of your name earlier….Dang that auto-correct!