A Face in Every Window [antikvár]

^cr a Once when i was seven years old, my grandma Mary knitted me a blue sweater. "Blue," she said, "because yer a boy and to match the color of yer eyes." Every time 1 wore the sweater, though, it grew. I had to roll the sleeves up so much they looked like fat doughnuts hanging from my wrists. When the sweater got to looking like a dress it had stretched out so much, I decided I would shorten it by unraveling it some. The more I unraveled, the more I wanted to, and I told myself I was knitting backward. I watched how each stitch linked with the next slipped out of its loop with just a gentle pull. I was fascinated with it and fascinated with the pile of yarn that had accumulated on my bed. When I had finished my little project, I brought my blue bundle to Grandma Mary and said, "Look, I knitted backward." Grandma Mary stood at the kitchen counter mixing batter for a chocolate cake. She turned off the mixer, lowered her head, and took a deep breath. I could see by the tight-lipped