So, I was invited to go to a knitting group...I've pretty much decided I'm not ready for such an endeavor.
See, thing is? Too much pressure. I realized a while ago, and many times since (like, the last time someone else who knits saw me knitting), that I don't knit the way other people do.
My aunt, the one who reluctantly let me pick up the yarn and needles when she was teaching my older cousin? She shook her head in disgust the way I held my yarn, the way I stationed the needles...one of the many reasons I thought I could live without knitting. My aunts in Mexico? The ones who helped me refine my "technique?" They are pragmatic. Who cares how you hold anything, does the finished product look like what it's supposed to look like? Good, go with it.
I haven't run into many pragmatic knitters since then. More like I run into people who stare unabashedly at my twisted fingers and wonder how on earth knitted things come out of that mess. I'm not trying to dis anyone, really. I'd be dissing some of my good friends and aunts if I were out to harm or hurt. I can live with their remarks and opinions, I love them. But a knitting group? With people I don't know? With people who knit "a la textbook" methods? That sounds awfully stressful.
So, yeah, unless I can fake even holding the yarn the "correct" way, you know with the tension on the pinkie and all that??? And yes I know I know, I'm going to hear about the whole 'there is no wrong way' etc. etc., watch me knit and you'll get the same perplexed look my god mother had the last time I was at her house. She was so bothered by it she took the bootie I was working on away and worked a few rows just to calm herself. Seriously. Why can't I even do that? Long story. Here's the abridged version with the moral as the first sentence:
NEVER allow children to play "WWF"/Wrestling/etc. kind of games. My older brother really and truly wanted to be Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka or whatever his name was. What made this man famous? Getting on the top rope and "flying" at his opponents. Now, ahem...yeah, Brother = Jimmy, me = opponent.... Brother got up on the arm of the couch or his bed or a chair, whatever, and flew at me... or at least tried to. He got me really good, once. Trust me here, it only takes once. He pretty much landed knee first on my left shoulder, doing evil horrible things on the inside. Left arm? Pretty much useless for weeks. Did we tell my parents? HELL NO. So... did it heal correctly? Hell no. I was pretty much ambidextrous as a kid, like my dad and MOST of his side of the family. I could even write with either hand. "Miraculously," one day I gave up on my left hand for doing anything. You can tell if you look at my writing from the 2nd grade. It goes from pretty decent to horrible chicken scratch, not coming back to something legible until middle of 3rd grade.
Right. Wrestling? JUST SAY NO.
I generally keep this little tidbit of info. to myself. It doesn't come up in general conversation much. My high school gym teacher thought I was hopeless at basketball because I can ONLY dribble with my right hand. She was told why. She even did some strength testing and yup... damage. She just asked kindly for me NOT to try out for the basketball team. Sooo, yeah, I was pretty much resigned. Then the knitting fascination hit and now I'm, I don't know what I am, stuck?
Right. This doesn't stop me from knitting in public you know, just well, knitting around other knitters, I guess. Weird huh?
Phew, really needed to get that off my chest. Nothing like telling the world...
BTW, if anyone is reading this today...Tuesday I mean. I have an interview for a library position. Think good thoughts my way? Thanks.