My aunt taught me to knit around the age of six or seven. The basic knit stitch. At my grandma’s house. The needles were super skinny little things that didn’t match up with the weight of yarn I had on hand. At that point in time, I didn’t really know other sized needles existed. Nor did I realize there were just short of a million types of yarn out there.
I didn’t get out to the store much. Amazon Prime didn’t exist.
I was six. I worked with what I had.
That turned out to be unfortunate for my mom. Because all I had was bright yellow yarn. And this gem happened:
A completely narrow and way too short scarf. For my mom.
And she wore it. She actually wore it. Regularly. To work. She didn’t just wear it in the car and then proceed to take it off after she dropped me off at school. Because she was a teacher at my school. We drove and walked in together. It stayed put. Bless her.
And she still has it to this day (I’ve since upgraded her scarf collection with a much more lovely deep aubergine infinity scarf that is a more appropriate length and seasonal color.).
I suppose I get it. A mom will love any gift from their child. Even if I sometimes go, “what the f is this?”, my son’s latest creation is always displayed on a craft wall in our family room.
I’m crossing my fingers he doesn’t start making wearable art.
I wonder if sometimes my mom crossed her fingers I’d stop making things for her to wear…
My stuff is still a work in progress, I can admit that. Some of the first blankets I made went to friends. Before I really knew how to weave in well, or when I was still dropping stitches regularly. It’s possible they washed the blanket once and it totally fell apart. It’s possible the next one I give out could do the same.
But I enjoy trying. That counts for something, right?