I genuinely believed my dad had gone insane when I first saw him sewing in the living room.
He was an older plumber than several of my pupils, with cracked hands, terrible knees, and work boots. His skill set did not include sewing.
The brown paper packages and the shuttered hall closet were even more bizarre because neither was secret.He bent over a piece of ivory cloth and murmured, “Go to bed, Syd.”
I had no idea that he was creating the most significant item of clothing I would ever wear.
To be honest, I thought he was insane.
I rested on the door. “Since when do you even know how to sew?”
He didn’t raise his head. “Since YouTube and your mom’s old sewing kit taught me.”
I chuckled. “Dad, that response made me feel even more anxious. Not less.
