Students arrive for costume class in a wide range of preparedness. One girl comes from a long line of sewists, and needs no hand holding when she leans into a project. Others are confused by where the thread travels across the machine, and stare at the needle hole they are supposed to pierce in disbelief.
"Really?"
Many ramp up their skill quickly, being themselves on the brink of driving. I call their first assignment a driver's test, drawing lines on a swatch of fabric for them to follow with decreasing wobble.
There is one tendency that I try to point out gently.
"Your hands have a chance to steer if they are ahead of the needle, rather than beside or behind it." Often students begin with their palms on the material without repositioning. The potential for changing direction is lost by the time the action has already passed.
There is also the subtle art of a light touch. When kids grip the cloth, they are at odds with the machine. But releasing completely can result in seams that resemble the read out on a heart monitor rather than the painted line on the road.
I look over the shoulders of these teenagers, who are intent on mastering a tool in the pursuit of a pillow, or vest, or tote bag. I am one of a flock of adults who care about them, giving them practice in navigating the construction of their own lives. I want to remind them to stay ahead of decisions that can slide into non decisions simply because they get dragged along.
It feels too early to suggest that they hold on lightly. That is more of the era of my age mates. Much of my time on earth has passed through the needle already, and lessening the grip on outcomes invites a sense of calm.
It helps me be more cognizant of those benevolent teachers looking over my shoulder.
