The Favorite Grandchild

Crochet connects women through the generations (and men too).  We all have memories of family members who crocheted or knit or did needlepoint.  I didn't come from a family that did a lot of crafting.  What could be made by hand was better if purchased in a store.  I came from a reading family, an opinionated family, an animal-loving family, but definitely not a DIY family.  But even in my decidedly non-DIY family, I still feel connected to earlier generations through crochet.

My grandmother and I didn’t always get along.  I felt, rightly or wrongly, that I was her least favorite of her four grandchildren.  It may just have been that I took her criticism more to heart than my cousins did.  Nonetheless, toward the end of her days, when my sister and I would visit her in that stiflingly hot condo in Hallandale, FL, my grandmother and I finally bonded. 

Often she didn’t quite remember who I was, though she knew we were related.  She definitely remembered the faults she found in me (didn’t I think I could stand to lose a few lbs., was I dating anyone), and was sure to mention them at every opportunity, but still, I’d sit with her and crochet while she watched TV. 

And then one day she asked, “what kind of shell stitch is that?”  I described the repeat: 2 double crochets, 2 chains and 1sc.  She looked at me for a moment.  I wrote it on a piece of paper:

“Oh, and you work that into each 2-chain space in the row before?” she asked, and took the baby blanket I was making out of my hands.  I moved closer to her and watched as she stitched a couple rows. 

“This is an easier way to hold the yarn.  It won’t hurt your hands as much and you’ll get a more even stitch.” 

Though she didn’t say it, I knew that she was happy we had something to share.  It was something special because neither of her daughters nor any of her other grandchildren crocheted, knit, or did any kind of needlework.  Before that day, I hadn’t even known that she’d been a crocheter.  She wasn’t one of those grandmas who made little slippers and hats for everyone.  But for whatever reason, she’d learned crochet at some point in her life and the muscle memory remained.

So it was that crochet became the catalyst that created a bond between my grandmother and me; a bond that could not be extended to include any other grandchild.  And during those few hours we spent together amidst hooks and yarn, I was, at last, the favorite grandchild.