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A mitter and his mother. Delia Sousa and her son are in stitches. As for the suit, Len claims he was channeling Truman Capote.
PHOTO BY JACQUELINE MARQUE
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My first close encounter with knitting came in college when I spotted a female classmate tangling with some yarn in the seat beside me. Intrigued, I asked her about it, and she revealed that she was making a sweater for her boyfriend. At which point, I disappointedly began to admire her knitting instead.
Though I had heard of the hobby, my mother’s side of the family came from a long line of sewers not knitters. Thin thread and tiny needles were the hallmarks of their tradition. A tradition I’d never been well versed in, but one I could recognize and appreciate just the same. Oversized needles and thick twine had always seemed rather childish and unnecessary to me. Aids for the farsighted hobbyist.
As it turns out, male interest in knitting isn’t something new. Male knitters (mitters?) have recently come out of their—strictly proverbial—closets, and there are several web forums and blogs dedicated to the hobby. Websites like MenWhoKnit.com and MenKnit.net share useful tips and suggest project ideas. Stephanie Pearl-McPhee of YarnHarlot.ca even tried turning knitting into a sport earlier this year with the 2006 Knitting Olympics, where competitors “must cast on a project during the Opening Ceremonies of the Winter Olympics and finish before the Olympic flame goes out.” This may be just the kind of angle that would appeal to potential male knitters and further mainstream the hobby. Unfortunately for me, I’ve never been interested in knitting or sports. Would knitting at a bar be kosher?
Against my better judgment, I took my editor’s suggestion and investigated this mercurial world of purl stitches and double cast ons. It was a world my own mother had discovered only a few years before, setting aside her years of needle work for this trendy style of yarn weaving. Given the sudden shift, I had to ask her about it. After years of sewing why knitting, why now? And did the Knitting Olympics have anything to do with it?
“No, they didn’t,” she said in that tone she uses whenever I’m being an ass. “But I noticed some of the other women at work were knitting their own scarves. I didn’t much like the ones I saw in stores and knew I could make ones I liked.”
We sat at the kitchen table as she began to place a slip knot onto one of the two single-pointed knitting needles she held. This is the first step in any knitting exercise. It took me a few tries to mimic the knot and subsequent origami of the single cast on—a cast on, both single and double variety, is the stitch that binds any knitted garment.
My mother knits in the English style. This simply means that she holds the yarn in her right hand. When a knitter holds the yarn in his or her left hand, it’s known as the Continental style. Chic, no?
In the midst of our adventure (I the willing but confused Sancho Panza to my mother’s sure-minded Don Quixote), she recounted the story of a man she knew from her old neighborhood who knitted by the bay window of his home. “He was always a little more feminine than the other men,” she said while reversing a stitch. “But he did get married and have children. Eventually he got divorced though.”
I stopped my attemptive knitting and laughed a little. I hoped my mother wasn’t getting the wrong impression about me. In twenty-three years, this was the first time I’d ever asked about knitting or any form of needlework.
“I’m not claiming to know why he got divorced,” she said. “I don’t really know.”
My effort to finish a single row of stitches was frustrated by my mother’s sheer speed at knitting. The repetitive nature of the craft is second nature to her, and she once finished a scarf for a friend in only a day. She described her older sister teaching her to knit when she was a little girl. “I remember asking her to slow down and show me how she did that. She went so fast.”
I couldn’t help but empathize.
Her memories turned more serious as she recalled the kitchen accident that has left her cheek blemished to this day. When she was only eight, a boiling pot of water she reached for fell and splashed onto her face and body, causing several serious burns on her cheek, neck, and arm. She says the wool sweater her sister had made prevented the scalding water from burning her more seriously. “The wool kept my body from burning. If I wasn’t wearing something so thick, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”
I had heard the story of that childhood accident before, but never knew it was a sweater my aunt had made that saved my mother from a worse accident. Though it’s easy to read into this event and draw a line to her current interest in knitting, it’s likely to be simply coincidental. But I can’t help but feel the routine of knitting, its relaxing monotony of motion, has helped her connect with thoughts she doesn’t often express.
My mother’s stories continued for a little while longer, covering several members of the family, and it occurred to me that there was more to this knitting trend than I first realized. It’s not just the product of knitting that matters, but the act itself. Any sense of accomplishment is secondary to something much more personal. And though I’ve yet to finish a single row of stitches to any degree of adequateness, I’ve realized there’s a lot more to think about while knitting than a few purl stitches and double cast ons—especially when there are Olympics to train for.
Why is Len such a misfit? He is not just a knit wit. “Don’t hire him, he’ll quit!” Seems he doesn’t fit in. Help solve Len’s unemployment woes—he’s available for children’s birthday parties and Bar Mitzvahs.
Originally Published:
The Mercury (5.10.06)
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