Threading the needle. And I mean that literally.
July 25 was Thread the Needle Day. Who knew? While I suppose the day also refers to more than sewing, I’m going to interpret it literally. Which of my peers who are on Medicare can thread a needle anymore? Which of their grown children would even attempt such a feat? Will the needle and thread go the way of the iron for our grandkids?
I’m still of the opinion that a stitch in time saves nine, that buttons that fall off should be sewn back on, and that I should not pay more money to shorten a pair of jeans than the jeans cost me. I actually have a sewing box. But here’s the rub. I literally can’t thread a needle anymore.
Well, that’s not entirely true. If I put on two pair of reading glasses, one on top of the other, and stand next to a lamp, I can still do it. But it’s hard work. Sometimes I enlist my husband, who claims to have better close eyesight and steadier hands. But lately, much like me, it takes him many tries to thread the needle.
My kids have come up with the perfect solution to this problem. They don’t thread needles because nothing motivates them to sew. Buttons that fall off stay off unless the cleaner fixes them. Rips stay ripped until the garment or stuffed animal is tossed and replaced. Everything is disposable. If it is worth saving, let a professional do it.
A couple of years ago, one of my granddaughters developed an interest in learning to sew. Not the kind of hand-sewing I am describing. She wanted a sewing machine. Well, I still had a sewing table, but I had tossed my machine long ago. Despite having a grandfather who was a professional tailor, I never mastered my Singer beyond creating overalls and baby clothes for my kids. I gladly gave her the table and bought her a sewing machine for her birthday.
She took a few lessons and made herself a pair of pajama bottoms. That was two years ago. The machine now sits in the basement gathering dust. She confesses that she has forgotten how to thread it. And she would no longer wear the crude items she would be able to sew. As far as simple mending by hand goes, she marvels when I sew up a tear in her shirt.
During my many years as an early childhood teacher and program director, I watched the demise of the toy iron as part of what we called the “housekeeping corner.” It probably has a more politically correct name these days. But we used to have wooden irons that the kids ignored. They had no idea what an iron was.
I’m thinking threading a needle to mend something has met a similar death with my grandkids’ generation. The only person they see doing this is me. And now that I struggle to thread the needle, perhaps my days of stitching up those holes in their clothes, beloved teddy bears, and fraying blankets are nearing an end.
But wait. What did I just find at Target? Pre-threaded needles. Who knew such a thing existed. I don’t have to thread the needle anymore. Now, if only I could teach my kids and grandkids that mending a tear and replacing a button is worth their time.
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