When you’re the American child of a Caribbean-born immigrant, especially one who’s entire upbringing was heavily influenced by British traditions and schooling, your learning experiences tend to be incredibly unique. For me, math (or maths) and spelling were different at home than in school. As an adult, I still find myself spelling certain words the British way. I even grew up watching British sitcoms. Of course, in school, I would get corrected for spelling words like “colour” wrong, but outside of that, it never occurred to me that these aspects of my life were different from the everyday lives of my friends. For me, it was the norm—a mini-melting pot right at home—a little Philly, a little Jersey, a little Caribbean, a little British.

I don’t recall the exact age my mom taught me to knit. I do remember, though, that I was very young—probably no more than 8 or 9 years old. She had just two needles—they were aluminum and gold in color. And the yarn she handed to me seemed to be an afterthought, dug up from a bin of stuff somewhere. I sat at the kitchen table with needles and yarn in hand, and my mom patiently instructed me on the basics of…you guessed it…English-style knitting. Of course!

As a naturally creative and curious person, I suppose I took an interest right away—certainly enough interest to learn what I was supposed to do, but like most children that are given new toys, the interest faded away after a while. After enough time had passed, my mom decided that I wasn’t going to knit anymore, so she gave the needles away to someone who she thought might make more use of them. So, that was the end of that.

Or so I thought. Many years later, I was looking for something new to do—to make. I’d dabbled in cross-stitch for years, but was in the mood for something different. So I decided to try arm knitting. In a matter of hours, I whipped up this oversized chain-link looking throw (pictured above right). It wasn’t that great, but I was pleased I’d even done it. And above all, I was hooked (no crochet puns here!). But maybe arm knitting wasn’t exactly the thing I wanted to do. So I picked up some knitting looms and tried those instead. I made a few things but it seemed really tedious to me. Finally, I went back to the basics and bought some regular, old-fashioned knitting needles and began re-learning what my mom showed me. Everything came back to memory, almost instantaneously, as though I’d never stopped knitting….yup…like riding a bike! Since then, my project bag has pretty much gone with me wherever I go.

My mom (who couldn’t ride a bike, by the way), would be thrilled to know she didn’t teach me in vain and that I really was interested. I just didn’t know it yet! I can only guess that it was her grandmother that taught her to knit. Not knowing that only a few years later I’d lose my mom to cancer, I’m so appreciative now that she took the time to teach me. I now have my own set of gold aluminum needles…and then some! Knitting is not only one of the ways I stay connected with my mom, but it has become one of the things I’m most passionate about in life.

This post is dedicated to my mom, Mazelline (April 20, 1945 - March 8, 2002).