The Truth in Old Adages
"A stitch in time saves nine", says an old saying. When I was a youngster my mother and her family elevated this short, six-word sentence to the level of a religious proverb. As Grandpa Frank (I had a Grandpa Frank and a Grandpa Abe but their wives were Grandma and Granny, go figure) collected the necessary accouterments to change the oil in his pick-up he would answer our question why by saying, "Well, ya know a stitch in time saves nine." When Grandma would clean up spilled milk from the kitchen table she would murmur under her breath, "A stitch in time saves nine." Queried by us as to the nature of her sewing my mother would say, "A stitch in time saves nine." Eventually, even my father began to use this euphemism and would explain that he was repairing the bathtub because, "A stitch in time saves nine." Though I understood each of these activities I could not see how "stitching" could save them all. At the ripe old age of nine, I finally realized sewing was clearly stitching, but the use of this phrase to describe the activities of the rest of the family continued to confuse me. Eventually, I would come to understand the nature of the phrase and its application to our family's life.
On the last Friday of each month, my mom would gather up all the kid's clothes and head down to the den with her needle and thread. I can remember watching her there, her glasses on the end of her nose, watching her soap operas (though we never called them that to her face, they were her "shows", nothing more and certainly nothing less) and repairing the torn and stretched seams in our clothing. Here finally, was something I thought I understood. I remember Grandpa Abe telling me that the red seams on baseball balls were called stitching and I could relate that to what my mom was doing. However, I still could not see how what she was doing could save nine of anything (the "nine" still being a somewhat mysterious quantity). She would labor most of the afternoon and then would segregate our clothes into "dress" and "play" piles. The "dress" clothes went onto hangers (even the "T" shirts) and were hung in the closet with great care (God forbid they should become "mussed" while in our charge). The "play" clothes were merrily stuffed into our dresser drawers. I learned the value of this lesson with my first car. Bought with the money I had earned working my senior year the car (a 1965 Pontiac GTO ragtop, black on white) was my pride and joy. Sometime during my second semester of college I had the misfortune of watching the "oil" light in the dash of my car switch on. The "Goat" suddenly stopped running on the East Bay Freeway during rush hour. By the time I was able to secure the services of a reputable mechanic the motor was toast. With a profound tear in my eye, I said my good-byes to the old girl and learned all the necessary bus schedules by heart. In time I was mentally and psychologically able to share this story with my Grandpa Frank. His only comment was, "A stitch in time saves nine, Billy." "Because Billy, a stitch in time saves nine", would always be h
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Approximate Word count = 1282
Approximate Pages = 5 (250 words per page double spaced)
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