Sew What Happened Was

There is nothing more soothing than the sound of a sewing machine. It brings back so many memories of my grandmother and mother. The art of turning some fabric and thread into fashion always fascinated me.

I began sewing as a child alongside my Grandma Ginger, my dad’s mother, a patient and loving woman who taught me how to thread a machine and how to sew my first shirt. It was a simple pullover blouse made from an old pink and white pillowcase. I wore that shirt with such pride because wearing something you made yourself just makes you beam.

A few days before Halloween, I decided I was going to make my own costume. Now at this point, I had never used the sewing machine unsupervised despite sewing for a few years. I was gonna be a Sexy French Maid because Clue the Movie had just come out and although I really wanted to be Ms. White, I decided that Yvette would be easier - I just had to make an apron, right? Well, I’m pretty sure the Universe decided that Sexy Maid was inappropriate for a 10yr old and sent my little brother to annoy me. Being distracted, I sewed straight into my thumb, jumping back with the needle still embedded in my thumb - string and all! This ended in a trip to the emergency room and my sewing days were officially over.

Any sewing I wanted after that day defaulted to my mama, who could make almost anything I saw in Seventeen magazine. My most favorite was a black tuxedo type halter dress for Choir Banquet. It took weeks but I was elated at the finished dress. She was so patient and loving with me, the difficult teenager.

One summer I was in my late twenties, we created a pair of memorable sundresses from some old Star Wars sheets. It was my first time trying to get back into sewing since the incident. I also learned about sewing with lining and how difficult it can be if you aren’t careful. I sewed the lining inside out and had to start over. This taught me patience and attention to detail.

Years after my grandmother passed, my mother passed too. I inherited her old Singer 6136, the same machine I learned to sew on, the same machine I sewed my thumb on, but I still couldn’t bring myself to sew on it. I lugged it around 3 or 4 different moves and still never sewed a thing.

Once Covid hit, I had too much time on my hands and in my head. I was fortunate enough to have income from selling vintage clothes, a side hustle I have since turned into a main hustle. I could see the potential of some clothing that just needed to be updated. I finally got my mama’s Singer serviced and began altering and reworking vintage.

“Measure twice, cut once” - a Sewer’s proverb. We all hear it and I rarely use it, just like road maps, but it is a necessity. A way of life. It makes things so much easier in the long run. Adulting means adhering to these things just like not using the fabric scissors for anything other than sewing. As a child, you don’t get it, all orange handled scissors are the same. As an adult, you understand why it was forbidden to cut paper (gasp!) or craft (gasp!) with the pinking shears, mainly because those shears are expensive and you most definitely deserved punishment for defiling the sacred shears. Through this I have gained knowledge and understanding.

In a time where tomorrow is not promised, I found a sense of hope and creativity through rediscovery. Relearning how to sew has made me more compassionate and patient with myself, which allows me to be that for others. It also allows me to connect with my ancestors through this one thing that we shared. Vision. We could see the potential and possibilities in a small swatch of fabric. We believed in ourselves enough to even try to create. We created. I continue to create. Through those creations I am able to connect with others. The joy and smiles on people’s faces from clothing I have reworked really is the gift. Everything else is extra. I am just grateful to have the opportunity to rediscover a passion and talent that touches people. That brings me joy. And I’ll bask in that joy for as long as possible.