As  bloggers, or any kind of writer, for that matter, we always wonder if our words will speak to someone else.  How might sharing our own thoughts and stories impact anothing person?  Our philosophy has always been that if even one person finds a blog post meaningful then it was worth writing and sharing.  So is the case with our recent posts about knitting.

One of our faithful readers was imspired to write, and graciously share with us, her personal story about learning to knit.  We all have stories inside that deserve to be written, whether we share them with others or not.

_________

How I Learned to Knit

My father was an alcoholic. My parents divorced when I was 3 and my sister,Holly, was2. My mom bought a house on a corner. At the other end of the block, across the street was a park. Past the far end of the park, down about a block, was a “beer joint” or bar.

One day my father came to visit. My mother left him in charge of me for some reason. He probably was supposed to take me to the park. I was 4. I don’t remember my sister being with my father and me. I guess my mom took Holly somewhere. My mom did not have a car, so she couldn’t have gone far.

I don’t remember going to the park, but I do remember sitting in the booth at the far end of the bar while my father sat at the counter having a beer. There was a lady there. I think she worked there. I guess she felt sorry for me, so she came over and sat with me. She had some knitting. I remember her trying to teach me how to knit. I guess when my mom got home and didn’t find us where we were supposed to be, she went looking for us. She found us at the bar. I remember her arguing with my father.

Years later when I was 10, I was sent to Girl Scout camp. Our unit was in the craft room. We were supposed to create something with the supplies there. There were sticks and bark and a bunch of other things. I was drawn to the small bunch of cream colored yarn. It was soft. Maybe mohair. I remembered the lady at the bar. I wanted to reteach myself how to knit, but didn’t have any knitting needles, so I used two pencils. I didn’t have my project finished at the end of the craft session, so I took my supplies with me. I remember trying to figure out how to cast on stitches. Then how to knit. There wasn’t very much yarn. I just made a small square. Maybe 3”x3.” I called it my crying pad. I used it to wipe my tears. I was terribly homesick.

When I was about 13, I had some money. I bought a skein of yarn, a pair of green size 7 knitting needles, and a ‘how to” book. I don’t remember what I made, if anything, but I have since made dozens of sweaters (26 in one year), blankets, baby clothes, and assorted other things. Several projects I never finished. I am currently working on a pair of black fingerless mitts made with velvet yarn.

I occasionally think back to the lady at the bar and wonder if she realized how she would foster my love of knitting. I’m sure she has since passed on, since that was 60 years ago. I hope she had a good life. I am grateful for her kindness.

P.S. One year my father gave my sister and me $20 each for Christmas. I bought a kid’s knitting machine. I gave my sister my leftover money so she could buy a car race track. I don’t have that knitting machine anymore, but when my husband was stationed in Iceland, I looked though a catalog, found a knitting machine and had him buy it. I also had him purchase $50 of various colors of wool yarn. The yarn didn’t work with the machine, being too thick, but I still have the yarn. In a box. In the closet upstairs. I really should make something with it. I’ve only had it for 36 years.

-WSS

______

We hope that you might be inspired to write your story.

Kris and Tracey