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kniteracyI think if you have a skill, you should pass it on. I teach people to knit for money, sure, but I also do it for free. This weekend I'm teaching knitting as a volunteer for I Knit London in Covent Garden, for example.
It doesn't matter how many students I see every week, I reliably remember faces, but not names, and sometimes not even which class they were in. One of the things I forgot to mention in my report about the I Knit London weekender was how many of my students, past and present, were in the exhibit hall. One student who'd been in one of my teddy bear classes proudly showed me the full-size jumper he was making for his partner. Others just smiled and waved. My two Brighton ladies shared some funny stories with me outside the venue. And one lady walked up to me with a friend, greeted me, and introduced me to her friend: "This is Gwen! She is the patient goddess who taught me to knit!" I was a bit embarrassed (but not embarrassed enough to put it out of my mind completely).
On Wednesday night, I saw a new group of beginners. There are seven of them, and they range in age from twenties to fifties. They range in ability from someone who's remembering her knitting lessons from her grandparents and had a six-inch swatch knitted by the end of class to students who are still having difficulty remembering that the working needle goes beneath the holding needle. They are all smart, fun, and interesting. One of them, the oldest lady in the class, came to class because she has tension problems and because she's never seen anybody who knits the way she does and she's positive she's doing it wrong. She wants to do it right.
After I get the other students settled into knitting and purling, I come to watch her knit. And there's nothing wrong with her knitting! She's a natural combination knitter: she knits through the back loop and doesn't twist her purl stitches. She's also knitting Continental, so this means she has a very fast purl. I tell her she's just knitting in a different style: if she wants to relearn the Western style of knitting, that's OK, but we can work with what she's doing right now, and if it's what she's been doing for years, then it may be the best way for her to knit. She says 'thank you!' and goes on about her knitting, and I move on to help another student.
After class, I catch my combination knitter on the way out. "I hope you don't find the class too basic," I say. "You're already knitting at a level above beginner level."
"No, no!" she replies. "It was worth the price of the course to hear you tell me there was nothing wrong with the way I knit!"
I tell her that we'll have to do some different decreases to make her work look uniform, and we'll definitely spend some time talking about tension as it relates to her knitting. Even though she is pleased, I feel like I haven't given her enough.
When I go back into the shop, V introduces me to some new knitters who have just started doing projects tonight. I tell them (jokingly) they should come to my class, and one of them takes out a notebook and asks me when it is! I take a look at another's ribbing, which is looking great, and show her how to tell her knit stitches from purl stitches so she doesn't have to just keep repeating the knit 1 purl 1 mantra over and over. This way, if she's interrupted while knitting, she can come back to her work and not be confused. Her two friends watch while I explain this to her. "You are a really good teacher," one of them says.
"Thank you," I reply. "I really like teaching."
And you know what? I really do.
It doesn't matter how many students I see every week, I reliably remember faces, but not names, and sometimes not even which class they were in. One of the things I forgot to mention in my report about the I Knit London weekender was how many of my students, past and present, were in the exhibit hall. One student who'd been in one of my teddy bear classes proudly showed me the full-size jumper he was making for his partner. Others just smiled and waved. My two Brighton ladies shared some funny stories with me outside the venue. And one lady walked up to me with a friend, greeted me, and introduced me to her friend: "This is Gwen! She is the patient goddess who taught me to knit!" I was a bit embarrassed (but not embarrassed enough to put it out of my mind completely).
On Wednesday night, I saw a new group of beginners. There are seven of them, and they range in age from twenties to fifties. They range in ability from someone who's remembering her knitting lessons from her grandparents and had a six-inch swatch knitted by the end of class to students who are still having difficulty remembering that the working needle goes beneath the holding needle. They are all smart, fun, and interesting. One of them, the oldest lady in the class, came to class because she has tension problems and because she's never seen anybody who knits the way she does and she's positive she's doing it wrong. She wants to do it right.
After I get the other students settled into knitting and purling, I come to watch her knit. And there's nothing wrong with her knitting! She's a natural combination knitter: she knits through the back loop and doesn't twist her purl stitches. She's also knitting Continental, so this means she has a very fast purl. I tell her she's just knitting in a different style: if she wants to relearn the Western style of knitting, that's OK, but we can work with what she's doing right now, and if it's what she's been doing for years, then it may be the best way for her to knit. She says 'thank you!' and goes on about her knitting, and I move on to help another student.
After class, I catch my combination knitter on the way out. "I hope you don't find the class too basic," I say. "You're already knitting at a level above beginner level."
"No, no!" she replies. "It was worth the price of the course to hear you tell me there was nothing wrong with the way I knit!"
I tell her that we'll have to do some different decreases to make her work look uniform, and we'll definitely spend some time talking about tension as it relates to her knitting. Even though she is pleased, I feel like I haven't given her enough.
When I go back into the shop, V introduces me to some new knitters who have just started doing projects tonight. I tell them (jokingly) they should come to my class, and one of them takes out a notebook and asks me when it is! I take a look at another's ribbing, which is looking great, and show her how to tell her knit stitches from purl stitches so she doesn't have to just keep repeating the knit 1 purl 1 mantra over and over. This way, if she's interrupted while knitting, she can come back to her work and not be confused. Her two friends watch while I explain this to her. "You are a really good teacher," one of them says.
"Thank you," I reply. "I really like teaching."
And you know what? I really do.
