and then there's knitting ...
One guy's knit is another guy's purl
Over time, I've learned who to knit for and who not.
By ROSS GRIERSON
Thursday, January 22, 2004 - Page A22
When friends and strangers discover that I knit they lean forward a bit, their eyes bulge out slightly and they ask in surprise, "You knit?"
Accomplished knitters are less surprised by this as they are generally free of knitting gender-bias.
The interest hooked me in third-year university when I really wanted to make a hat with earflaps. I went to a knitting group on the recommendation of a friend. Someone had the patience to show me how to knit, then purl. This meeting, as with most knitting groups I've been in, was attended by all women, except for me: the lone male knitter.
Knitting quickly consumed me and replaced basic needs such as eating and sleeping regularly. I was experimenting with patterns and designs with hats, mitts and scarves. None of these things are that complicated in the knitting world, even after learning to use four needles. The real trick is to make a sock.
The sock is a huge milestone in knitting. It has been said by many that if you can knit a sock, you have the confidence to knit anything after that. It took me six or seven years to get to the sock stage. I had to approach an older lady in a yarn shop, produce my mangled knitting project from a plastic bag, and have her teach me as though I were a Grade 1 student learning to read. When I was knitting socks on a regular basis on public transit, older ladies sitting beside me would comment: "Oh my, I used to knit, too."
Their eyes would glaze in memories of past knitting glory. I guess you could call the sock stage the little old lady stage, too.
Sweaters were a big step; it was easier than a sock, it just took longer. When I got into making cable sweaters (or sweaters with yarn twists, if you will), it was back to the lady in the yarn shop. Several times. Any time I visited her, she never complained, nor did she charge me anything.
Four of us actually started an "all guys" knitting club. We met twice a week and watched James Bond movies in a bachelor pad while clacking away with our needles. Joe's bone-knuckle-tight knitting style resulted in a sweater that did not fit. Bob gave up, and John finished a scarf that took four months and looked like a carpet. We disbanded.
I've taught others: Christine, my supervisor at the time, was an ideal student. One day at work she said to me, "I want to make a sock." I said "Sure," and didn't think anything of it. The next day she had bought needles and yarn.
"I want to make a sock," she said again. She learned and made a pair of socks within two days. She had skipped right to the sock phase in two days! Unheard of.
I flourished for a year or so mostly making gifts for others. Knitting gifts are supposedly inexpensive, but they take many hours to make. This time is never wasted, of course, and I learned who to knit for and who not:
Never give knitted gifts to immediate family members, with the exception of children. They appreciate you already, and if they are not knitters themselves, they will probably stash away that scarf or pair of socks in a closet somewhere. If this does happen, the general rule is: if you don't notice the gift in use within one year, you can steal it back and re-gift it.
Do not give knitted goods to a materialistic person unless you believe it will enlighten their outlook of life. Or you could charge them money.
Definitely knit things for toddlers and children. (These projects take no time.)
Never knit for teenagers.
Always knit for elderly people.
Knitting for friends is okay if you know they'll appreciate it.
Knitted gifts for someone you're courting is a bad idea. You might scare her off.
Knitting for a girlfriend is tricky business. Projects may not be complete by the time the relationship is over; large projects such as a sweater or shawl may seem to have been a waste of time if you break up. I like to think that karma will repay the effort put into the relationship regardless of the loss (knitting or otherwise).
I remember almost all the projects I've done since 1994. Each one had its own purpose, and there was the adventure in the creation of it. The joy of giving it to someone made it all the worthwhile. The experiments have the fondest memories for me: a wool bra, a sock for a giant, socks that said "You make me horny" on them.
I've had times when I thought knitting wasn't all that great. But some inspiration, maybe making another gift or trying a new idea, would have me working away again. Knitting, like karate, has many stages and requires constant practise.
I have recently joined a knitting group I found through the Internet. Four of us met in a bar in downtown Toronto. We chatted away and told knitting jokes (I won't even begin to get into those) all the while getting curious glances from other patrons. I'm sure deep-down somewhere they wanted to learn how to knit, or at least crochet. There were two other males at this meeting, I'm pleased to say, so I wasn't the lone male knitter.
My reaction, when someone asks in surprise, "You knit?" is, "Of course!"
Ross Grierson lives in Richmond Hill, Ont.
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-rose |
