My grandmother liked to fish. She would let you come along, show you how to bait your hook, how to cast, how to feel the bite, set the hook and remove it from the fish's mouth if you caught one. But, she would only show you how to do these things once. Then you were on your own, because she was fishing. Of course, sometimes you needed a little more help, and she would give it, grudgingly. You tried harder to do it by yourself after that. Gram proved that learning to fish was worth it, that it was something grown-ups wanted to do, that it was fun for them. (Gram also taught me how to knit).
My mother has always sewed and baked and made all sorts of wonderful things: stuffed elephants, chickens, puppies, kitties, dolls and doll clothes. She made most of these items for church, to raise money for the poor. She grew up on a dairy farm and knows the names of wildflowers and birds. When I was growing up, she always, always sang in the kitchen while she worked. She visited the bookmobile when it made its rounds to our neighborhood, because she loves to read.
Guess what I learned? Guess where I learned it?
When I was little I saw my mother sewing and wanted to do it too, so she gave me scraps of fabric and showed me how to thread a needle. She taught me some basic stitches and left me on my own, because she was sewing. I learned to try hard, to be patient and to do things carefully.
If there were children's crafts items when I was a kid, my parents couldn't afford them, and I didn't know about them. Everything I made was from real materials.The grown-ups in my life invited me to try what they were doing, so long as I didn't bother them too much and ruin their own fun.
It's different today. Everything we do is for the kids. We lament their childhood when it passes, because we no longer do the things we once did together. We no longer make things, because really, it was only something we did to entertain them. We no longer sing, because we only sang for them. We no longer visit places, because we only went there so they could see, not because we wanted to see. We make such a special effort for our children today, but do we invite them into our lives? Do they get a chance to really know us, to learn what we are about and what we love?
My mother has always sewed and baked and made all sorts of wonderful things: stuffed elephants, chickens, puppies, kitties, dolls and doll clothes. She made most of these items for church, to raise money for the poor. She grew up on a dairy farm and knows the names of wildflowers and birds. When I was growing up, she always, always sang in the kitchen while she worked. She visited the bookmobile when it made its rounds to our neighborhood, because she loves to read.
Guess what I learned? Guess where I learned it?
When I was little I saw my mother sewing and wanted to do it too, so she gave me scraps of fabric and showed me how to thread a needle. She taught me some basic stitches and left me on my own, because she was sewing. I learned to try hard, to be patient and to do things carefully.
If there were children's crafts items when I was a kid, my parents couldn't afford them, and I didn't know about them. Everything I made was from real materials.The grown-ups in my life invited me to try what they were doing, so long as I didn't bother them too much and ruin their own fun.
It's different today. Everything we do is for the kids. We lament their childhood when it passes, because we no longer do the things we once did together. We no longer make things, because really, it was only something we did to entertain them. We no longer sing, because we only sang for them. We no longer visit places, because we only went there so they could see, not because we wanted to see. We make such a special effort for our children today, but do we invite them into our lives? Do they get a chance to really know us, to learn what we are about and what we love?
Such wisdom here.
ReplyDeleteI suppose that is how it works here. I did grudgingly roll out Willow's pie dough yesterday and then quickly get back to my work. ;-)
ReplyDelete