Of Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy

Some of my friends believe that I am a knitting guru. Some of my friends believe that I am – as the Harlot calls them – a Knitter instead of a knitter. Some of my friends believe I am capable of interpreting even the most arcane of pattern instructions. Some of my friends believe that I can correct even the most dismally incorrectly knit garment with only my wits and fingers to guide me. If you are one of those friends, read no further as I do not want to disillusion you and destroy the last good and wonderful thing that keeps you sane in these dark and perilous times. For those of you willing to plunge ahead, make ready the smelling salts, sit down, and have coffee ready.

I am not a knitting guru (GASP). What I am is a knitter with an inordinate amount of knitting patience, obsessive perfectionism, and experience. This is the trifecta to knitting success. Nothing more and nothing less.

I used to not believe in the holy knitting trifecta. I used to believe that certain knitter genius was created in the womb by the fiber goddesses, imbuing the embryo with some fiber magic that allowed the human, once born and taught to knit, to create feats of knitting from air and fairy dust. I was completely and utterly wrong. I was completely and utterly disrespecting the skill that is knitting.

I am also a musician. When I play the piano, I do this with the knowledge that not everyone is capable of playing the piano. When I play the piano, I know that what I make sound easy and pleasant is really the result of hours of practice and patience, sometimes practicing a few bars for hours until I get the fingering, tempo and tone correct. When someone tells me how much they enjoyed a piece that I have played, I do not say, “It was nothing, just a small trifle. Anyone can do this. All they have to do is buy a book and play.”

While on some level it is true that learning to play the piano is mostly learning the mechanics and coordination, it is the experience and practice, the willingness to completely and totally be horrific even when you wish you were deaf to your own playing until you get the skill, that separates musicians from the inept. Knitting is not different.

To become a Knitter versus a knitter, one must be willing to produce sweaters for King Kong, socks for Godzilla, and shawls for Rodan.

To become a Knitter versus a knitter, one must be willing to rip out a disastrous few rows without compunction, pity or tears, as they will felt your wool.

To become a Knitter, one must be willing to be brutally honest with oneself about the viability of a project and remember that project euthanasia is not illegal, although some communities have laws about open bonfires.

To become a Knitter, one must accept that telling a friend that they should rip back a mistake instead of saying, “No one will notice that you have a giant hole over your boob” to spare a few tears and that look of pain in their eyes as you unravel the last three hours of their life in five minutes.

Being a Knitter takes hard work, commitment, and a willingness to persevere in the face of lying swatches. Most of all, being a Knitter requires constant vigilance and heartache. Being a Knitter means doing it until it is right, regardless if others will notice because you will know and it will eat at you every time you wear the garment.

So the next time I wear a shawl in public and someone says how great it is that I can wear something so beautiful and how they could probably do the same thing, I will not reach out and touch them firmly on the mouth with my hand as I say, “Only if you are willing to pay for it in time and tears.”