My mother taught me a little bit about knitting a number of years ago, and I’ve picked it up a few times off and on.  My simple creations seem to have either a lot of knits or perls, rugged scarves that suffice but have never had the sheer beauty my mother could put together in just one afternoon.  When my oldest daughter Mika expressed an interest in it, I referred her to my mom, who was happy to patiently sit with her granddaughter and teach her this art.

Yesterday my fiancée and I ushered in the new year at her parents’ house, along a few of her sisters and their children (and grandchildren.)  We had a Wii providing ample entertainment in the kids’ room in the back of the house, and we heard over and over the cheer (and anger) of the boys celebrating and anguishing the victories.  In the living room, Telemundo and Galavision played New Year related shows in Spanish while we enjoyed tamales and molé, chocolate cake trifle and pumpkin rolls.

I’m not sure when the knitting needles came out, but one by one, they made an appearance, as my fiancee, her mother, her sister and finally my oldest daughter began to choose a string from previously hidden bags.  Needles clicked in quiet unison while grandchildren slept, sprawled on couch cushions, and loud boys were shooed to the back room.  Nadira’s father brought in carefully cut pieces of wood to keep the woodstove going, and because of his efforts in part, the house remained cozy all day.

I know, I know… Not exactly most people’s idea of a wild and crazy New Year’s Eve.  But it was our family day, and I enjoyed listening to the English and Spanish flowing through the house, the incredible smells of foods, and the love, everywhere, all around us. Most of all, I enjoyed watching the women knit and share stories, even if I couldn’t even follow, as my Spanish is horrendous.  Every so often, Nadira would translate what was being talked about, throwing me a bone or two so I could pretend I was keeping up.

Mika beamed as the women in the room applauded her efforts on a multi-colored striped scarf she was attempting, loose strings dangling from one side of it.  I felt such a sense of pride so see her interacting with this new family.  Despite repeated efforts to teach Mika an easier method to knit her scarves, she had stuck to her own special way of knitting the threads together, as it was the only way she was comfortable doing so.  The women had come to accept that this was Mika’s way…

Two years ago, after a lifetime of internal suffering and confusion, Mika had been formally diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome.  This particular form of Autism tends to build a wall of social isolation around those with it, making them socially awkward, indrawn and incredibly shy.  Every day is a struggle for Mika to reach out to others, and we have had our fair share of adventures working through the related issues.  During her youth, Mika had found comfort in the quiet act of knitting, allowing her to keep her nervous hands busy in the company of others.  It had been a few years since Mika had knitted, so it was nice to see her connecting with the women in my life through this means.

This year was a year of trials and jubilations, as many are.  In Nadira’s family, one of the sisters had gotten happily married, one had given birth, the very first great-grandchild entered the family, and the economy had hit hard on a number of fronts.  As the sisters and their families streamed in and out in an effort to visit in-laws too, as we sat around the grandparent’s dining room table for lunch and dinner with an improbable number of chairs pushed around it, I felt such a strong sense of family here.  Granted, my side of the family was going to meet later that night as well, but I felt a need this year to spend my first New Year’s with Nadira’s parents, to be here, fully.  Next year we will be inviting them to join in, as I know my mother will also enjoy especially the knitting. And the stories.

As is typical in such a large family, there are many things going on all around, and errands had to be run in support of the day’s events.  I left to pick up my youngest daughter, so she could celebrate with us. Nadira had to go and pick up a few items.  It was during this time, when both I and Nadira were running errands and gone from the house, that the real knitting occurred…

Nadira’s mother, a strongly and openly faithful woman, had invited everyone to retreat to the den, in order to say a prayer of thanks together as a family.  The children were told they could say what they had been thankful for, and what they hoped to achieve next year in their lives.  Knowing this might be stressful to Mika, she was told that she did not have to join in if it made her uncomfortable.  But Mika immediately followed them into the big room, and sat down, listening to each of the kids and adults state one after the other what they were thankful for, and what they hoped lay ahead.

Nadira’s parents are what you might call the salt of the Earth.  They came to this country with only the clothing on their bodies, living literally out of a relative’s old, empty tool shed for the Winter.  Nadira’s mother rolled newspapers and stuffed them into the many holes in the thin wooden walls to keep the winds out.  Nadira’s father hustled daily for any form of work he could get, carpentering, clearing debris, and like so many others who came before him, picking fruits and vegetables in the fields surrounding our towns.  Often, Nadira’s mother joined him in the hard work, as the children slept in the back of their ancient station wagon.

The last decade had to be one of pride for them all, as first Nadira’s parents then she and her sisters obtained their American citizenship.  The sisters all worked hard for and obtained college degrees and teaching certificates.  Nadira’s father went from manual labor in the fields to developing calluses on his large hands in a local packing house, in charge of creating the thousands of boxes used for the fruit, where he works to this day.  He has beautiful hands, telling tales of inner strength and character.

When the round of prayers came to Mika, she was again reminded that she did not have to say something if she was uncomfortable with it.  Before they could skip over her, however, she cleared her throat and began…

While I and Nadira were rushing around town, Mika told the people in the room a story of thankfulness and hope.  She thanked God for having a supportive father in her life, having seen me working so hard to help her through situations.  Everyone nodded in the room and smiled at this.  She stated that she was so thankful for all that she had been able to accomplish this year despite her limitations, and was really looking forward to her future, to what she now knew she could do with her life.  At this, Nadira’s sister, who has always been a very sensitive soul and was going through tough times, began to feel a few tears.

Many in the room were astonished, as Mika stepped out of her condition and continued, much longer than anyone had thought she would.  ”I want to say that I am thankful to God for being a part, for the first time in my life, of a real family, who all care about me so much.”  At this point, Nadira’s mother, a woman who has witnessed such hardship and pain, who has lived much of her adult life in two worlds apart from each other, began to feel the tears, too.  She saw that no matter how hard her life had been, no matter how many walls she had to climb over in dealing with life each and every day, here was a young woman working hard to overcome a mental disability, a permanent edifice working to block her whole life.  Nadira’s niece, who had just moved out of her apartment and back in with her mother to finish college while raising a one-year-old, cried as she saw that even her problems could be overcome.

One by one, Mika’s impromptu words of thankfulness at the help and acceptance she had been receiving from the people in that very room flowed outward and around them all.  Soft, carefully chosen words threaded their hearts in unison into a beautiful, soft, warm garment of family, knitted together in Mika’s own special way.  As she finished by expressing hope for her future and praying openly that God give her the strength to overcome the many challenges she knew were ahead for her, everyone had been brought to tears.  Everyone cried together in that room as one, as a united family, unashamed in that rare mixture of happy, cathartic anguish.  The one that they had expected to remain silent had spoken for all of them.

When Nadira returned, people were still wiping their eyes, and leaving the den to return to the living room.  It was first of two times Nadira cried that day, the first when she was told what Mika had said about Nadira having stepped into the role of mother so patiently and helpfully, and again when she saw me unable to hold back my emotions as her sister, mother and father told me when I returned.

I thank God for yesterday, and for Mika having said just what we all needed to hear, after a long, hard, wonderful, love and pain-filled year.  And for knitting us all together beautifully, in one single afternoon, in Mika’s own special way…