“I have a present for you.”
It’s the one of the sweetest, most humbling things one person can say to another — it doesn’t matter if the gift is large or small, new or old, expected or surprise.
But as a senior in high school hoping desperately to win approval from my then-boyfriend’s family, hearing the words from his mom filled me with nervous wonder, unsure of what she possibly could have gotten me.
Despite nerves, I put on what I hoped looked like a confident smile as she handed me a bulging gift bag.
“Open it,” she encouraged with a cheery grin. “I hope you like it!”
The tissue paper crinkled as I reached inside. My fingertips reached a soft bundle; it was a skein of blue Red Heart yarn, with a set of crochet hooks glinting from beneath the paper label. Also inside the bag sat a book, the image of a lacy, cream-colored blanket peeking out at me.
“I could help you get started,” she gushed. “You’d be great at crochet.”
After a quick introductory demonstration, I spent the day pulling the hook through one loop after another, then ripping my work back and starting all over again. I found myself tugging the yarn, tightening my loops and making it nearly impossible to add anything to my establishing row.
But I wouldn’t give up. I’d never felt so out of place while crafting, and I wasn’t about to let her down.
Still, no matter how much I practiced, I couldn’t get the hang of crochet. My hook left red indentations on my fingers, and my yarn spun into a twisted mess. I packed away the gift bag, letting it collect dust in my closet.
I’d never so blatantly neglected a gift, yet there I was, trying to forget one of the most meaningful presents I’d ever received. But I couldn’t ignore it forever.
“We should put on a movie so you can relax and crochet,” she suggested one day after lunch.
When I returned home, I raced to my closet, dumping the cobweb-covered supplies onto the carpet. I touched the scratchy, matted yarn, cringing at its stiff fibers.
Perhaps better yarn will make it easier, I told myself. I scoured the shelves at Michaels, eventually selecting a canary-yellow skein of Caron Simply Soft.
Later that night, I situated myself on my bedroom floor. That’s better, I decided, folding the soft yellow plies into a slipknot. My stitches remained tight, but the yarn’s slightly silky texture made it easier to squeeze the needle through the tiny loops.
The next time I visited her, she admired the uneven, sunshine-hued scarf around my neck. To this day, it’s the only crochet project I’ve completed.
Share your stories: Have you ever experienced a crafting fiasco?
Bitty Knitter 