The Impatient Graduate

Last week, my son brought over a sewing machine I’d given him—a gift from my grandmother years ago that I’d never touched because sewing and I just don't mix. My grandmother was always so sweet and tried to please us, so she bought it for me even though I didn't know the first thing about it. He wanted me to help him thread it, and I couldn't help thinking, Did you try YouTubing it?

So I turned to YouTube, trying to keep pace with a lady zooming through the steps. Then she dropped the mention of the bobbin. Where on earth was the bobbin? Well, he had forgotten it at home. Luckily for me, you actually need the bobbin to sew, which meant I was completely off the hook from having to mess with the machine.

But as we were trying to figure it all out, it triggered an immediate flashback to my high school graduation and a fiasco of my own making, driven entirely by my own impatience.

A few days before the big day, I received my cap and gown. I was so proud, especially being the eldest child and graduating first. I brought it home, unwrapped it, and saw it was terribly wrinkly, so I just hung it up and hoped gravity would fix it.

The night before graduation, I looked at the gown and saw it was still full of wrinkles. I had worked too hard to walk across the stage looking sloppy, so I decided to iron it. My mother heard me and told me not to touch it—she would take care of it. But being impatient and wanting it done right then, I decided not to wait.

I set up the ironing board, placed the iron on it, and turned it on. How hard could it be? I had never ironed before, as that was always my mother's domain, but I had watched her do it countless times for my father's work clothes. I figured I had it covered.

I laid the gown out flat on the board, picked up the iron, and pressed it down. Sizzle—it instantly stuck and burned right through the fabric, ruining the entire right side of my gown. Panic set in immediately. Wondering what on earth to do, I did the only logical thing left: I started to cry over having ruined my graduation gown in a matter of seconds.

Now what was I going to do? I couldn't walk across the stage with a giant hole in my gown. So, figuring I had nothing left to lose, I decided to try sewing it back together.

I had taken Home Economics in school and made a pillow, so I figured how hard could it be?

I tracked down some sewing needles and white thread. It took me a frustratingly long time just to get the thread through the tiny eye of the needle. I carefully stitched the burned fabric together—which was pretty tricky since the synthetic material was stubborn and slippery. It certainly wasn't winning any tailoring awards, but at least the hole was closed up.

I tried on the gown and to my surprise as long as I held my arm down you couldn’t even notice it. But it was my right side and I’m right handed so this is going to be very tricky. There was no way I was going to raise my right arm.

Now I am planning on how I’m going to receive my diploma with out moving my right arm, luckily, you walk with your left side facing the audience, so I could just reach a little with my right arm to grab the diploma. I spent the whole night freaking out over this.

Waiting for my name to be called, all I could focus on was keeping that right arm tucked close to my side. When they finally called my name, I walked up there, grabbed my diploma, and decided I couldn't care less about the mess under my arm—I had earned that diploma! 

Looking back, that graduation taught me an unforgettable lesson about patience—or rather, my total lack of it. Between trying to rush gravity with a hot iron and hastily stitching the synthetic fabric back together, I had turned a simple wrinkle into a full-scale crisis.

Standing there waiting for my name, consumed by worry and keeping my arm pinned tightly to my side, I put myself through hours of absolute agony. But when the ceremony finally ended and I could finally relax, I realized something almost funny: nobody noticed a thing. The frantic panic, the rushed sewing, and the rigid posture had all been for nothing. It turns out a little stubbornness can get you through just about anything, even if you brought the disaster entirely upon yourself.

-Jackie