Childhood's Missing Pieces

There’s a little square tin adding warmth and charm to a handmade bedside table in the guest bedroom. Inside the tin are 200 - well, 197 to be exact - pieces of a puzzle. The first time I put this puzzle together I was 9 years old. It was difficult because of the uniquely shaped pieces, but the colors and completed scene were comforting and compelling. Why I chose to hang onto this particular puzzle of my childhood when there had been countless others to choose from, I am not quite sure. Especially knowing a piece or two were missing.

One day, faced with an empty schedule and some looming lonely minutes, I decided to put the puzzle together and think over my childhood and other such homey things. What will come to the forefront of my thoughts as I work the pieces together? I was fascinated by the fact I remembered certain particular pieces and exactly where they went. Why would my brain fixate on such a thing and remember decades later? 

Missing Pieces

And then all that is left are the holes unable to be filled due to missing pieces. Places that mark forgotten things. Like lost memories…

Fast Forward...

On another day, I am busily knitting as we drive home from a camping excursion in our favorite mountain range. My project which was moving right along suddenly comes to a messy impassable halt. This certainly isn’t the first time I have nearly reached the finish line of a project only to be stymied by a massive rat’s nest of tangled yarn. 

Lesson Not Learned

Thankfully, the road home still offers hours ahead. Intently I unwind and untie and unravel the wooly mess in my hand. A shadow of a "missing piece" wavers in front of my thinking and I casually say aloud, “I still haven’t learned.” Dreamily my mind pushes forward to a fond memory of my very own first ever skein of yarn. Dusty rose in color. Perfectly wound and held secure in its wrapper representing a package of unimaginable potential!

I feel so much in that moment of memory and then move on to linger on a stored core memory of my aunt. It’s Christmas Eve and family have gathered at my Nana’s place for festivities. My aunt has brought along her knitting. She is making a blanket. Her yarn is black with colorful flecks all throughout. She is only knitting row after row, no fancy stitches or patterns. Her tension is consistent, and the stitches are neat and uniform. Through the muddle of voices in the room I hear my Nana say, “what are you making that for?” I am mesmerized by the dance of her hands, the rhythmic clicking of her needles and textured fiber; it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I want to make beautiful things with my own hands, despite criticism, just like her. 

On a Braided Rug in Maine

Back in my childhood home, I am seated on a braided rug in the living room eager to begin. My epic plans are interrupted as my mother offers sage advice, “You must always ALWAYS wind your yarn into a ball before beginning your project. Otherwise, you will end up with a mess.” 

And thus, the struggle begins. I do not like this bit of information one bit. I do not want to take the time to make a ball of yarn when I could be witnessing something beautiful form on my very own clicking needles. But because she is watching, I endure the tedious task of ball winding while many thoughts go through my head. I believe it was a matter of obedience.

Over the years my love and appreciation for knitting and knitters has only grown. “Winding first” continues to be a battle of the mind and will. Most often I choose “disobedience”. If ever I ended up in a tear-producing frustrated tangle my mother wisely said nothing. We both knew I was suffering at my own hands.

A deep sadness settles over me as I finish saying “I still haven’t learned.” The advice received as a child automatically replays and my decision to ignore it grates rebelliously. Suddenly I feel quite ashamed. 

Quietly and now humbly, I work on my mess. I am not even tempted to cut my yarn in an attempt to fix the problem as I did in my impatient childhood days. No, I will sit here and work through this for this obviously is the destiny I have chosen. 

To Roll or Not to Roll

I work silently for a very long time. Progress is slow - matching the speed of my thoughts. And then as the soft threads release from each other a beautiful realization forms. To roll or not to roll has been a crucial building block of who I am. It was never about obedience although that was the only way my childish mind could frame it at the time. And thus, a missing piece is found! At long last I might be able to fit into place a piece that has been laying just on the outskirts of my perception.

So much remains unresolved from our childhood missing pieces. Case in point, being old and grown yet still hoping to not be caught or judged for working with an "un-balled" skein! I think one of the most important things we can do to become mature, whole human beings is to sit with our memories. Forgive, discard, appreciate and move on. As I slowly wound what once was an impossible mess, I capture a new appreciation for who I get to be. (Let’s face it, who among us really has control over our “fearfully and wonderfully made” person?!) 

A Process of Learning

Being faced with the “To Roll or Not to Roll” decision as a child was a gift. I had to weigh the pros and cons. Truly there was no right or wrong. It was just advice.  Sure, one choice seemed riskier than the other but some of us are born risk takers. Would you take that away from me? What about the potential reward? No matter how many skeins of yarn I looked in the eye (and believe me, there have been tons) the struggle was always the same. Only now I don’t ask “will I be obedient” I ask, “will I risk it”. There is a huge difference in this thinking. As I compare the few times I rolled to the oodles of times I didn’t, it is amazing to realize that the number of tangled messes were pretty even regardless of which method I chose. As a result, I learned some important life skills and enjoyed the rewards of risk taking. For example:

• Conscious decision making,
• employing scientific research with variables, what if’s and outcomes involved,
• accepting responsibility for choices made,
• being able to question authority and dissect reasoning (VERY important in today’s world and any world we live in, don't you think?),
• and honoring my built-in coded personality. 

A Big To-do About Nothing

This may seem like I am making a big to-do about nothing, but time and time again I meet stuck people. Even a little bit of conversation will reveal their “stuckness” involves a missing (or misunderstood) piece of childhood. I want to encourage you to mull over some of those memories, compare them with how siblings remember them, put your adult understanding to work and see what you discover. Are there memories that pop up often? How about good ones like the one I have of my aunt? Embrace it and see how it has been woven into the fabric of you today.     

Persevere