No matter how hard you try, there are some skills that can’t be learned. Things like having perfect pitch, a photographic memory, or being double jointed. Other skills may come naturally, such as playing the piano or a sport, but can be refined or improved over time. As for myself, I’d like to think I possess a modest talent when it comes to writing. Nearly three books in (and over a decade of professional writing under my belt), I sure hope I’m not wrong. But truth be told, I’ve always tried to be brutally honest with myself when it comes to my strengths and weaknesses.
In the interest of space and time, I won’t detail my abilities and flaws here, but I will admit to one deficiency. I am terrible at sewing. I don’t have the patience, perseverance, or frankly, interest in becoming a skilled seamstress. Sure, I’ll sew on a loose button or fix a small tear on my kid’s clothing, but anything beyond that, you’re out of luck.
Because of sewing, l learned an important life lesson in high school: when faced with a situation that will highlight a personal shortcoming, sometimes it’s better to rely on your strengths in finding an alternative approach. Otherwise, you may find yourself hanging on by a thread. If I was going to pass my Home Economics class, I’d need to get creative. So, that’s just what I did.
Here’s my story…
And sew it begins
I’ve written before about my time attending Roy C. Ketcham High School (class of 1992!). As a student in a public high school during the late 1980s and early 90s, my school had some quirks which kids today may not be able to appreciate. For instance, who remembers having a wall-mounted pencil sharpener? And what about the joy of seeing an AV cart being wheeled into your class? (That meant it was a “Movie Day.”) Oh, and Ketcham High School also had a smoking lounge which faculty and students could use during free periods. While I never frequented the smoking lounge, one could imagine how fascinating the conversations must’ve ranged between the teacher group and the student group.
Ketcham High School also had a handful of unusual electives that were required for graduation. Some of these courses were likely part of a curriculum that hadn’t been revised since the 1950s. One of those classes was called Home Economics. Like its name implies, home economics—also called “Home Ec”—is a class that teaches skills such as cooking or sewing which are useful in the home.
As it happened, my neighbor and my mom’s best friend, Mrs. P, was the sole home economics teacher at my high school. (You may remember Mrs. P from my blog about her dog Ginger, who was given as a surprise Christmas present one year.)
Despite knowing me since childhood, there was no doubt that Mrs. P—a well-liked teacher with an impeccable record—would fairly assess my home economic skills. Especially since Home Ec was a pass-fail class. Thank goodness no one ever raised the potential conflict of interest between Mrs. P and I. The biggest challenge to my passing Mrs. P’s Home Ec class fell squarely on my shoulders. But I was terrible at sewing. Given my lack of sewing ability, I knew I’d be hanging on by a thread.
Sew it seams
As valuable a skill as sewing is, it just wasn’t my thing. Had I been in any other class, I would try to blend into the background and keep as low a profile as I could. But since Mrs. P and my mom were close friends and neighbors, I had to be on my best behavior. I mean, could you imagine if I acted out and she had to tell my mom?
And so (and sew?), when we got our sewing assignment, I knew I was in trouble. Big trouble. I wasn’t just hanging on by a thread; I was on the edge of disaster.
Our assignment was to make an article of clothing using a sewing machine. Rather than leave us to our own devices, Mrs. P gave our class the option of making a sweatshirt, sweatpants, or a skirt. Out of principle, I refused to make a skirt. Even if it was the easiest thing to sew. At my core, I was still a tomboy and despised dress clothes. That left a sweatshirt or sweatpants as my remaining options. I opted for sweatpants because they had fewer components.
The first step was choosing the fabric. I don’t recall what the options for material were, but I distinctly recall the color I chose. A bold, bright, blinding turquoise. Sewing and fashion afficionados alike would already note that choosing such a hideous color was my first mistake.
Pattern recognition
With my fabric in hand, the next step was to measure then cut out the pattern. I’m pretty sure Mrs. P supervised this portion of the project. It ensured that us careless high schoolers didn’t needlessly waste any material. Satisfied that I’d done the measurements correctly—despite my shaky cutting—Mrs. P sent me off to begin the sewing process.
Sitting down at the sewing machine with the sweatpants pattern, I knew my sweatpants weren’t going to be pretty. Indeed, the first inseam that I sewed was crooked. So was the second leg. But, at least the creation sort of resembled sweatpants. Albeit grossly misshapen ones. Still, I forged ahead. I didn’t want to be hanging on by a thread with an incomplete project.
But when it came time to add in the elastic to the waist band and ankles, I knew I had a problem.
My first elastic measurement for the ankles was off. Way off. As in, my circulation would be cut off if I wore the sweatpants for more than five minutes.
Time was running out. I looked around the room to see if anyone’s sewing was remotely good.
Last stitch effort
I spotted a quiet, unassuming girl named M. She was unusually far along in her shirt-making project. And it actually looked like a shirt. M and I weren’t exactly friends, but I’d never been unfriendly to her. Since I was hanging on by a thread, I had to act fast. Relying on my pleasant disposition, I may have figured out a creative solution to my problem. I glanced around the room again to see where Mrs. P was. In a class with twenty or so kids plus several noisy sewing machines, surely Mrs. P couldn’t track my every move.
I hurried over to M as casually as I could so as not to attract attention. Sensing my presence, M looked up. I complimented her on the shirt she was making. M seemed genuinely pleased.
In my sweetest, most polite voice, I said to M, “Boy, you’re really good at sewing. Do you think you can help me with my sweatpants? They’re a disaster.” I held up my horrible, factory reject sweatpants. M grimaced and let out a deep breath. Thank goodness we didn’t live in a cartoon because M surely would’ve made that slow “wooooo” whistle sound to signify my sewing flop. Unsure whether M would accept, I decided to make her an offer she couldn’t refuse. In a whisper I added, “I’ll pay you five dollars.” When you’re hanging on by a thread, sometimes you have to be bold.
After a pause, M nodded her head. “I’ll do it.” With Mrs. P far across the room and unlikely to witness this transaction, I felt instant relief.
Reap what you sew
While I don’t recall the specifics for how M salvaged my sweatpants, I do remember how proud I was to bring my completed “passing grade” sweatpants home in a paper bag. Although I’m not sure if Mrs. P knew that I “skirted” (pun intended) the objective of her sewing assignment, I sometimes wonder if she noticed the vast improvement from when I started to the final product. Thankfully, the statute of limitations has long passed in case she should read this blog.
Now, you may consider my paying M for help with the project as “unseamly behavior.” To this, I’d say, “don’t thread on me.” I did what I had to do. It was worth raiding my piggy bank to avoid the embarrassment of having such poor sewing skills. But in all seriousness, while I’m sure Mrs. P would’ve helped me, I didn’t want to put her in an awkward position.
Fast forward to my adulthood, there’s no shame in outsourcing work to experts in areas I’m not good at. While I’ll take on easy baking projects, when it comes to a big milestone birthday, I’m going to spring for that fancy birthday cake. If there’s a tough stain on a pair of wool pants, I’m going to the dry cleaner to have it removed, rather than trying internet remedies that might ruin the pants. (Which I’ve done.)
And while I wish I were better at sewing, between my terrible eyesight and impatience, I will never be a sewist. So, thank you, M, for helping me out in Home Ec thirty-plus years ago. Anyway, it’s time to sew things up here. I hope this blog had you in stitches.
Do you recall any childhood memories that had a strong impact on you later in life? Please share your stories with me in the comments section.
