When I was about five years old a serious ear infection led to mastoiditis, a life threatening malady. This meant a rush to the hospital, emergency surgery, then follow-up operations to clear the bone of infection. I was in hospital for weeks then at home for a long convalescence.
It was during this latter period that my mother taught me to knit. I took to it with enthusiasm and had soon turned out a fancy tea cosy and even some socks.
Now let decades tick by until you find me in Australia visiting family. My mother dragged me off to church and afterwards proudly presented me to a circle of parishioners gathered outside. There were smiles and congratulations and tales of long ago. It was at this time that an old lady in the group suddenly had a revelation. She blurted out, “Of course! Now I remember him. Ian is the boy who used to knit so well.”
I’m sure I blushed deeply and wanted to escape that circle before some other old lady came up with an even more embarrassing recollection like, “I remember so well looking over the fence every morning and seeing that rubber sheet hanging out Ian’s window to dry.”
Now I have to admit that I made up the bed wetting thing but everything else is true. Have you ever asked yourself how you will be remembered? You might be surprised by what people could come up with.
