It's my fault Joann is closing stores

I should have paid more attention when my mom was sewing and crocheting.

My first attempt at sewing was in eighth grade at St. Joseph the Provider School. I was making a pair of gauzy cream-colored gaucho pants and a matching vest, which tells you how long ago this was. The pressure was on since my mom was a capable seamstress, and the instructor was my grandmother’s next-door neighbor. I couldn’t mess this up and embarrass the family name.

As I recall, sewing the vest went relatively well, and the pants were coming along okay until it was time to sew the zipper—that dang zipper. I must have sewn it, ripped it out, and resewed it a half-dozen times. The instructor was perplexed. “Maybe take it home to your mother,” she sighed.

My mother was aghast. “How did you even do this?” she asked as she stared at the most misshapen zipper she had ever seen. “I don’t even know if I can rip this out.” After much frustration, she did rip it out, and then she retreated to the basement to sew the zipper herself. She might have tried to show me how she was doing it, with the hopes that some morsel of knowledge might be transported from her skillful hands to my bumbling brain, but I likely wasn’t paying attention. I was too happy with the idea that my mom would finish my sewing project for me.

This is an example of gaucho pants. Mine did not look like this, and I never looked like this.

My mom was also great at crocheting. When I was in third grade, she made me a yellow drawstring purse with fringe on the bottom. It was, as they would have said in those days, groovy. I took it to school every day. Who knows what I put it in, Kleenex, maybe?

One day, the teacher sent me home with a note to give to my mother. I was a wreck on the bus after school. Was I in trouble? I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong to warrant a letter to my parents.

At home, I nervously handed the note to my mother and waited for her to give me the intense look that signified I was in big trouble. Instead, she just smiled. The teacher wrote that she loved my purse, and when I told her that my mother had made it, she had to let my mom know how beautiful she thought it was.

A couple of years later, I decided to try crocheting. I got pretty good at making single chains, but attaching more stitches was a disaster. I couldn’t crochet a simple pot holder, let alone an intricate purse. Ultimately, I stuck with long chains, using them as hair accessories or bracelets.

I lacked the patience and, I believed, the skill to do handiwork like sewing and crocheting. I am, however, really good at sewing buttons and darning socks, both of which are life skills I passed down to my children.

Is it any wonder I’m overwhelmed in a craft store? I see other people putting items into their carts, and I know they will turn them into beautiful handiwork. I have no idea what to do with 3 yards of fabric, two pieces of styrofoam, a glue gun and a jar of glitter. I stare at the sewing supplies and think I should finally teach myself how to sew correctly, but then I’m distracted by a mild panic attack. I wind up leaving the store with an empty cart, my brow covered with sweat.

Now Joann has announced it’s closing all of its 500 fabric-and-craft stores nationwide. And I’m to blame.

Oh sure, Joann was acquired at auction and may continue to exist in some fashion. It’s still likely that many of the company’s 10,000 employees will be out of work. According to the Akron Beacon Journal, “new ownership will roll out a ‘multimillion-dollar retention plan,’ grant time off to employees who need to interview for other jobs and try to organize job fairs.”

It’s not just me, of course, but I’m part of a group of people who ignored their mothers when they were sewing, crocheting or knitting. I preferred to watch TV, read a book or take dance lessons when I could have been sewing my prom dress or crocheting Christmas presents.

It’s too late for me to save Joann, but I feel like I should buy lots of supplies and finally teach myself how to sew and crochet. If I go into Joann, they will know, though. They’ll see me as the fraudster that I am, scooping up going-out-of-business sales for crafts I wouldn’t have done a month ago. Can I handle the hairy eyeballs I will receive? I will deserve all of them.

I’m sorry, Joann employees and faithful patrons; this would not have happened to you had I not been such a craft misfit. I hope you can forgive me.