Our 18-year-old grandson came to our house the other day for a surprising reason. He had texted my wife, his Nana, to ask if she would teach him how to sew.
Imagine that—a senior in high school requesting to sew. We weren’t surprised. We moved from our native Ohio to Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley for reasons like this. Helping our daughter and her family has become our primary purpose in retirement.
Our grandson had a specific plan. Inspired by a video he saw on YouTube, Davis wanted to make a hoody out of an old quilt. Fortunately, my thrifty wife had a few on hand, including the quilted bed covering she made that Davis’s mother used at bedtime growing up.
First, they cut up the quilt using a favorite hoody Davis brought along as a pattern. They had that job done in minutes.
This young man had never sewn before. Nana showed him the basics and let him rip. Davis was determined, and he fixed his focus on the task at hand. No music played through smartphones, headsets, or earbuds as a distraction.
He carefully and cautiously bent over Nana’s machine and sewed one, two, or three stitches at a time, gaining confidence as he went. That was Davis’s best approach since he was stitching three layers of material together.
Curious and confident, Davis is also practical. He took his time sewing the sleeves, hood, and extra-large front pocket onto the main body of the hoody.
He diligently sat at the machine for twice the time Nana would have completed the task. But her look of satisfaction revealed a deep pleasure and grandmotherly pride in our grandson and the joy of being asked to help.
I occasionally popped in and out of the room, digitally documenting the entire process. Once finished, Davis’s smile of accomplishment matched Nana’s. I realized I was grinning, too.
The next day, Davis sent another text to Nana. He wanted to shorten the colorful hoody, so he returned to her sewing machine and perfected his dream in just a few minutes. He was pleased as punch.
When Davis went to school the next day, his friends admired and desired his homemade mauve, pink and white hoody. They wanted him to make them one, too.
As far as I know, he didn’t take any orders. Completing this project and basking in the glow of achievement and admiration was more than sufficient for this young man.
© Bruce Stambaugh 2025
Roadkill Crossing 
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