MATTHEW BURNETTE

Staff Writer

If you regularly read my weekly column, first off, I’d like to say I appreciate your (hopefully) appreciation of my work, but secondly, you’ve seen me discuss my struggle to learn to play a stringed instruments in the past.

While I often attribute that to the bulkiness of my hands that I previously wrote are better suited for tasks like oyster shucking.

Though that may be a contributing factor, I’m writing this to reveal that I have a deep, dark secret shame that I’ve struggled with for as long as I can remember.

Here goes….

I have clumsy fingers.

This affliction first came to my attention in my preteen years when I had the idea that I was going to learn how to play the banjo.

The first day I sat down for lessons, the teacher explained that we were going to start with the basics of the Bluegrass style of playing which involves using your index finger, middle and thumb.

He spent an hour showing me what to do and having me start to try and get my fingers acclimated to the motion.

I practiced at home for the next week and returned the following Monday for my next lesson, showing no improvement whatsoever. My thumb would always try to jump in before the index finger who I think half the time was over on the other side of the room trying to learn the tuba.

Needless to say, banjo lessons didn’t last that long.

Eventually, I found a favorite hobby that helps with dexterity: Lego building.

It helped somewhat, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized something about Legos that never occurred to me before: they’re incredibly sharp and pointy.

What’s the point of doing something to help with dexterity if your hands are so sore afterwards that you don’t feel like using them?

So, I continued on the best I could with my flimsy phalanges. Even typing on a keyboard, a key component of my job (pun somewhat intended), was awkward at times. My “Backspace” key is probably close to its 100,000 miles.

A hobby then gently fell into my lap that’s given my fingers the focus they needed.

Back before last Christmas, I was having a conversation with a relative lamenting how much of a chore shopping has become at the holidays.

We both vented frustrations about how we would rather just make things for people instead of having to trudge through the stores.

The only problem? I didn’t at the time know how to make anything.

Our conversation continued and I interjected “That would be kind of funny, though, if I showed up to Christmas and just gave everybody potholders that I crocheted.”

Nowhere in my brain was there any sliver of knowledge of how to crochet anything, but the thought stuck in my head.

Of course, at that point, I would have never been able to accomplish the goal of making Christmas presents that year, but on a whim, I went to the store and bought a set of crochet hooks and some yarn.

I then found a nice English lady on YouTube who makes tutorial videos for crochet beginners and started trying to learn the craft.

As had been my experience with other attempts at learning new things, my fingers didn’t want to cooperate. They would zig when they were supposed to zag and vice versa. They’d accidentally pull a little too tight and cause too much tension on the yarn.

But unlike other endeavors, I noticed that I seemed to be getting the rhythm and actually started making things that looked things.

I don’t know if it was some divine intervention. My middle name happens to be an anagram for the word “yarn,” so maybe it was some strange cosmic happening.

(My middle name is Ryan if that wasn’t clear. The only other word you can make from the word “yarn” is “nary,” though some may argue that would be a better-suited middle name for me.)

My first completed project was a small square that I gave to an aunt to use as a coaster. I then took on a more daunting venture: a baby blanket for some good friends that were expecting.

A couple of snow days gave me some time to focus on getting it done, and it turned out fairly decent. The sides were a little uneven, but at the very least, it can be called a one of a kind.

One day as I was hooking- er I guess I should say using my hook to crochet- it occurred to me how analogous crocheting is to life.

It’s incredibly repetitive as life can be sometimes.

Just like with anything we do there’s bound to be mistakes, but like a lot of the ones we make in life, they can be easily corrected. All you have to do is pull your yarn back and undo what you’ve done and then start again with hopefully a better outcome.

But the key component to any crochet project is a singe knot, a starting point. You can’t begin without it, and no matter how much yarn you pull away trying to correct errors, that knot remains and offers a foundation to rebuild on.

Life may throw its twists and turns at you, but as long as you have something strong to stay rooted with, there’s always an opportunity to find your way again.