I looked around. Behind me, a woman was knitting. Knitting?!?

click click click. click click click.

Like a whine of a mosquito, the sound became impossibly loud. It drowned out the sound of the performance. I was focused on it. It was haunting me. I could not escape it.

CLICK CLICK CLICK. CLICK CLICK CLICK.

Finally, a pause in the performance.

“Excuse me. I’m really sorry to bring this up, but the sound of your knitting needles is very distracting.” I couldn’t believe I was actually saying this.

“Hrumph. You can’t possibly hear this!” It was as if I’d asked her to stop breathing.

“Well, actually, I can. It’s a quiet performance. It really is very distracting. Can you put your knitting away?”

“You can’t hear this!”

The performers began another number. I turned around and faced forward.

CLICK CLICK CLICK. CLICK CLICK CLICK. CLICK CLICK CLICK. CLICK CLICK CLICK.

I was reaching my boiling point. Did this woman have absolutely no respect for others? Did she not have a clue?

Graciously, intermission arrived. I quietly left my seat and approached an usher. Again, I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this. I explained the situation to the usher and returned to my seat. The usher approached the rogue knitter and asked her to put away her knitting.

She began to protest, but the usher stopped her cold. Indignantly, she shoved her knitting in her bag, and let out a grunt. Continuing to huff and puff, she left her seat.

A few minutes later, her husband leaned forward and began to speak to me. Finally! A voice of reason! Surely, he was going to sheepishly apologize for his wife’s brutish behavior. I could almost see him bringing his finger up to his head, twirling it about, indicating that he, too, thought she was a nut-bird. And then he said, “My wife knits those hats for babies suffering in the intensive care unit at the hospital. Because of you, a helpless newborn will go without!” Ouch. I guess he wasn’t on my side after all.

I returned to facing forward, enjoyed the remainder of the performance — gloriously click free — and mentally made a note to seek out counseling to assuage the guilt that had been so heaped upon me.

I never went to counseling.

A year or two later, Zoe was born under difficult circumstances and found herself in the intensive care unit for a couple of hours. When she was finally brought to me, she wasn’t wearing the standard issue blue (or pink) -and-white cap. Instead, she had on a beautifully knitted hat. The label inside read “Knitted by Hand and with Love by Rex Volunteers.”

I doubt there’s another parent out there who has as much appreciation for their child’s hand-knit cap as I have for mine. It just isn’t possible. click. click. click.