On Tuesday afternoons, for the past few weeks now, I’ve been helping out my friend Patricia (namasteknitter) with an after-school knitting club at her son’s elementary school.

You have to realize that this is a completely foreign world to me. I don’t have kids. I don’t really like kids. I was the baby of my own family, and I’ve spent my whole life around people older than me. I have never, ever, changed a diaper. I can’t remember the last time, prior to this, that I set foot in a school - but it was before they had metal detectors at the doors. To me, schools mostly mean taxes, and areas where you have to drive slower on certain days and at certain times. (Oh, and they don’t like for you to swear, either.)

So, when The Pats asked me to help her out, my immediate first thought was to run away.

(My second thought - probably like yours - was along the lines of, "she must be either crazy or desperate." I now strongly suspect "desperate", as it turns out the club contains 17 kids! It’s the most popular after-school club they have.)

But then, I got to thinking about the people who encouraged me and taught me to knit when I was young.

OK, so there weren’t any, except one unnamed lady at the local library who got me started on my sad, frustrating little pink garter st rag about 32 years ago. My mother didn’t really knit; my knitting older sister was away at college; my grandmother crocheted.

My maiden Aunt Mary, who lived with my grandmother, did knit - but at the time that Grandma Henchal taught me to crochet, I suspect that the Tragedy of the Pink Rag was still too fresh in everyone’s minds, so crochet it was.

Then, of course, I realized: it has become my knitting duty to save a few innocent kids from learning to crochet knitting frustration.

Deep breath - OK, I’ll do it.

As it turned out, the club is only 1 hour per week, for 6 weeks. Even I can handle that much exposure to "little people". On top of that, the first meeting was canceled because Patricia was sick, so I even got a weeks’ reprieve.

But surprisingly (surprising to me, at least) - it has turned out to be fun. Don’t tell The Pats, but I may even be a teensy bit sorry when the last class comes.

My favorite moment so far was a couple of weeks ago. One little girl, who was knitting quite well, shyly asked me if the next week I could show her how to "vee knit". I had to tell her I was sorry, but I didn’t know what that was. Of course, I kept on pondering what she could have meant. A few minutes later, I figured it out: she wanted to learn to PURL, so her stitches would look like "vees"! And along with understanding her meaning, I understood - as one knitter to another - her desire to produce beautiful, flat, grown-up stockinette.

Then there was last week, when Daisy just sat quietly beside me, while an endless line of hyper kids with interesting and unusual knitting screw-ups handed me their knitting one by one, saying, "I did something funny." As I fixed what seemed like thousands of 10-st-wide disasters, Daisy patiently knit row upon row of perfect garter st, and silently put her hand on my knee after she finished each one, so I could look at it and pronounce it good. Is that just doggone cute, or what?

Along with the hyperactive kids who are struggling to get through 10 sts at a time, there are some kids who can really knit. Today I showed a couple of them how to "read" 2 x 2 ribbing. Little exclamations of "OH, I get it!" as the light bulbs went on. We got a few of ‘em started on a simple, knitted-flat hat.

(Don’t tell The Pats this either, but I let Natalie start knitting hers in the round. She’s a 5th grader, and is a pretty accomplished knitter - and I think she was pretty bored with the idea of knitting a flat hat - and she was curious enough to ask about it - so who am I to discourage an inquiring mind?)

We only have a couple more meetings, so I’m not sure if anyone is going to get a finished hat out of the deal. But who knows what little seeds of fiber love have been planted? Maybe the next Elizabeth Zimmerman, or the next Nicky Epstein, will be sitting in one of those dinky little chairs next Tuesday, asking me for help.