There was a game I loved when I was little. Hot and cold is pretty simple. You are trying to get someone to go to a certain place, and every step they take in the general direction is met with cheers. There is no fussiness about how close or far they are. Just an incremental move is clap worthy. The final hurrah comes when they actually find what you have hidden, be it a small toy, or their Easter basket. 

 

The adult version of this is Behavior Modification. With nothing more than gasps and grins, we have maneuvered people to open doors, tie someone's shoelaces together, and my all time favorite, quote Hamlet. Once we managed to coerce a woman to climb on top of the soda machine and get into the lotus position. It is my idea of a good time.

 

It takes some imagination on both parts. The people in the know about the desired outcome need to accommodate to the merest success. Encouragement is the fuel of the day, and skilled players are generous with lavishing it. Nothing would happen if everyone sat around in stoic silence until the poor person guessing somehow stumbled upon their silent wishes. Plus that would be no fun. The guesser is also better off if he or she tries the unexpected. Risks failure. Gets gutsy. There have been times when the game stalled because the person was so afraid of mistakes they stood there frozen. 

 

When my kids were little they took stabs at chores. Once a well meaning child started the dishwasher, but instead of the powdered soap, reached for the liquid hand soap. That was epic. Benjamin is a champ about taking out the trash and recycling. He has a tendency to place them close to each other, which does not work for the electric pinchers that grab the can and hoist it into the air. But I will not speak ill of his efforts. I just subtly nudge them apart. 

 

I heard someone complaining about another person's attempts to teach Sunday school. It wasn't up to their standards. With all that is truly heartbreaking in the world, I was surprised at the need to criticize something that is unequivocally going in the right direction. My philosophy in teaching sewing to children is to celebrate them. If I am stingy with praise, waiting for straight seams and an absence of wrinkles, I suspect they would stop coming. One of the traditions they drink in deeply, is that whenever a project is finished we all pause to applaud. Their faces in that moment are pure sweetness. 

 

When I first began sewing, I crafted some pretty awful things. Like the vest for my sister of fake fur. Or the neon orange pants that billowed out like a sail in a squall. 

 

But my parents held their tongues. And I kept at it. If they had been more finicky I would have frozen up and never made it to Double Wedding Rings. Which aren’t perfect either.