Fun tends to be quiet. Busy, but quiet. When he does talk, he says things, like, "My precious," better than Smeagol and makes pterodactyl squawks - as if anyone knows what a pterodactyl squawk sounds like. I always squawk back. This has been going on since he was a tot. One day when Fun was five I stumbled out to the kitchen on a Saturday morning, picked up a perfectly executed Audubon-like animal drawing and called out, "Where did this come from?" "Me," squeaked Fun. He always squeaked when he didn't squawk.
His best friend, Billy the Magician, makes pictures appear from nowhere onto water glasses while smiling at you. Fun does that with pen and paper, and now thread. Fun plays violin, too. Although he prefers just to page-turn for Violinist.
He makes things out of wood - belts, jewelery. The other day Fun announced he wants to be a fashion designer. Quite a switch from someone who thinks nothing of flying through the air on a dirt bike leaping tall buildings.
Fun has discovered that girls will pay to have someone rip up their perfectly fine blue jeans, blot them with bleach, embroider cute little insects and ziggy-zags and other nifty stuff onto their jean hineys and sew it all back together again.
So I said, "Fun, what are you going to eat while climbing the fashion design wall?" Apparently good sense prevails and he still plans to study something reliable like law and order. As a result of this new direction, there has been a huge learning curve going on here for both Fun et moi - how to pass on four decades of sewing experience in ten easy lessons. I truly shocked him the other night upon snipping into a selvedge and riiiiiiping the piece off.
Once we got past tension problems - DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL!!! - and fiddling around with basics - which way the needle faces, discovering there's a thing in there called a bobbin - once we got past the fact that the foul odour emanating from the jeans he was working on was in fact, not emanating from them at all, but rather from Violinist's bowl of parmesan laden spaghetti, "What is that stench? What IS that stench? You don't suppose, VIOLINIST!!!, get out of here with that stinky cheese!"
Once we got past the fact that you do not leave spools of loose thread hanging off the back of the machine because it will get caught into the flywheel and you will have to take apart the machine and the belts to pull the mess all out, and while you're in there clean out the accumulation - it was clear sailing. So now Fun - funny, happy Fun - spends dark winter nights stitch, stitch, stitching away. And true to the craft has already invaded my stash and hit the fabric stores...only the second man I've ever known to do so...the other being my father.
Toby at Six Months
5 hours ago