Sewing camp was on my schedule for the past week. I was mindful of my back, having learned that lesson, and still managed to help eight darling students fill their arms with pillows, tote bags and aprons. 

 

There was one pair of girls who were determined to work in tandem. Neither one wanted to get ahead of the other, and made up reasons why I should not clap when it looked like one was finished. Finally, the embellishment appeared on the front and we applauded. 

 

I noticed the ebb and flow of their moods, which is to be expected. Sometimes they looked limp, as if ripping a seam might be fatal. Then I stepped in to pick threads or redo a seam. 

 

Other times, though, they were already planning the next project while we were pinning the hem on the current one. 

 

One child asked for help with the top hat she was concocting. It was a lovely idea in theory, and yet I have never mastered millinery skills. She chopped a small pile of black fabric, attaching it to pipe cleaners for support. I am a fan of creativity, but felt dubious. She asked for help, and I tried to steer her toward the five hundred patterns waiting for her in the cabinets, which include a beret and sunhat, I might add. Maybe it was because it was five hours into the day and my own energy was depleted, but I wished she would just whip up a pillowcase. 

 

One of my favorite moments is when one person has recently finished a step, like sliding elastic through a casing, and another student is about to embark on it. I ask the newly experienced child to explain it to the novice, which they are delighted to do. 

 

Some of the students added a label, which said "Handmade". I want them to feel proud of their projects, and to go on to make more things in their futures. 

 

Maybe even a top hat.