By Marina Unger
As a student of the Waldorf Handwork Teacher Training program, I knew this would happen eventually.
It was inevitable.
I’d be asked to crochet.
Third grade training has come.
I have an interesting relationship with crochet. I know how to crochet. I would say I’m an advanced beginner who can muddle through trickier bits well enough with a few tries (and maybe a YouTube video or two!). But it isn’t a skill I’ve ever enjoyed enough to take it to the next level.
Knitting, on the other hand, I love.
Knitting calms me. The rhythm of the work. The sound of the needles. The feel of the yarn as it slides through my fingers. It all just feels good.
An observation I’ve made through my adult years has been that most of the time there are two camps of yarn-work enthusiasts. Those who love knitting and those who love crochet. Those few unicorns in the middle who love (and are equally skilled at) both? I suppose they are what we could all be striving towards, especially as handwork educators.
As a teacher of handwork, the skill I possess for each craft is important. But what I think is ever more important is the joy I carry for each craft. The interest and excitement I have for the skill directly influences how I present it to the children. If I present a skill to children that I’m not enthused about, even if my presentation is all sunshine and roses, they will know.
They will know.
If anyone can see right through a teacher’s intentions, it is a child. They are so much closer to the spirit world than we are and while they aren’t conscious of these abilities, they can see our soul working (or not working, as the case may be) in everything we do.
So how do we en-joy that which carries little joy?
It is a question I’ve carried with me these first few months of class, which have been blissfully filled with knitting.
The answer came in the form of an assignment. We were asked to create a story that would teach a specific skill to children. I dove in with the aim to create a story that would teach the single crochet stitch. And then I watched.
I watched my hands as they worked together, one moving more than the other. I watched my fingers as they held the tools, each required in a different way. I looked for a rhythm that I couldn’t connect with in previous projects.
And I stopped comparing it to knitting. Because they are so different! Where knitting sweeps and swoops, crochet has a definite beat. Where knitting needles gently slide, crochet hooks proceed with what feels like determination. Where knitting hands work together in balance, crochet hands support one another to bring balance.
I saw crochet in a new light instead of keeping my mind focused on previous experience. I opened my eyes to see something new in the rehearsed movements I’d used hundreds of times before. To en-joy crochet, I en-livened it with my presence.
What presented itself through all this observation was a dance. A beautiful dance! A maypole dance specifically, with ribbons and children and wonderfully rhythmic music. Once I let go of the past I was able to see the beauty that this skill could bring to children, especially those third graders with their heartbeats settling into a more adult rhythm, their sheer determination to test new abilities and step out into the world, and their need for support and a bit of balance from the souls around them.
To bring joy to something, anything really, we must see it with new eyes, just as it is. Without our prejudices, past experiences or comparisons to cloud the experience. I found the third grader in crochet, you will find something or someone else.
The secret to en-joyment is there in everything.
You just need to be willing to look.
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