I firmly believe that what negative things happen in your childhood scars you as an adult. I recall a situation in high school that I think formed, in part, who I am today. Home Economics was a required course for "girls" when I was in high school. You learned how to cook, sew, iron a man's shirt, put together a grocery list, and in general, make "the man's" home a serene castle for him. I bristled at that, even at 17. Not that you shouldn't do all of those things, but they shouldn't be forced on you and you shouldn't be made to feel that the only contribution you can make in a marriage is washing dirty laundry and doing dishes. Funny, men are men, but women are girls. ARG. But that was the '60's and '70's to some degree.
Anyway, I had a home ec teacher that I couldn't stand. She was vacant. I think back now and think she was just dumb, but back then, she was just lost. I didn't learn much from her. One day, she was out sick and an older home ec teacher took her classes. I didn't like her either. We were ironing that day and had to take turns. When it was my turn, I didn't realize that the person using the iron before me had unplugged it. It was still hot to the touch. I started to iron and the teacher came over and held up the plug and in front of everyone asked me, "are you stupid? You have to plug the iron in before you use it." Well, needless to say, my home ec experience was not a good one.
I was getting ready for work yesterday and realized that the pants I was putting on didn't have a button. Somewhere, in the depths of a drawer in the back of the closet, I have sewing "stuff." I went into the bedroom to search this out and realized I didn't have a replacement button. Time was ticking, I had to leave for work a little after 2 and it was already 1:45. I found a button in my jewelry box, go figure, and proceeded to try and find a needle and thread.
Thank God, I found one that was already threaded with black thread, the problem was, the length of the thread was about as long as my index finger. Swell. But, I had a mission, so I went with it. I placed the button on the pants and promptly dropped it. I tried again. This time, I held it in place and stuck the needle in one of the small holes in the button. Feeling like a winner, I pulled the thread through to anchor the button and it went right through. The button fell on the floor again and I realized, I had neglected to put a big enough knot in the thread. I re-knotted the thread, which significantly reduced the size I had to work with and plodded on. I placed the button on the pants again and it quickly fell on the floor again, this time, rolling under the bed. Swell. I crawled under the bed and found the button. Once more with feeling, I attempted to sew on the button, realizing that I was quickly running out of time.
With vigor, I held on the button and managed to put a few stitches through the holes--just enough to keep it on during my shift at work. With my last stroke of the needle, I stuck the needle in the nail of my index finger on my left hand, right down to the skin, making it bleed. The blood, of course, got on my blouse.
I put the pants back on and tried to button them. The button was too big for the hole--after all, it wasn't the original button and who in the world would actually measure the button first? OK, everyone but me.
Now what? It's 2:04. I took Tony's scissors and cut the buttonhole--too much, of course, so I spent the entire evening, re-buttoning my pants.. But, I sewed on a button and for that I was proud.
The entire experience made me realize that there are two paths I could take going forward. In my downtime, instead of playing computer games, I could audit my closet and look for missing buttons and practice sewing, or I could do what I usually do in times of stress and frustration........
"TONY, CAN YOU SEW A BUTTON ON FOR ME?"
I did not do well in Home Economics, but I certainly married well...and for that, I am extremely thankful.
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