1) The narrator was playing basketball with neighbors and winning until their Great Aunt Lucy called them over to help thread a sewing needle. 2) Great Aunt Lucy was a skilled seamstress who made clothes for the town, from wedding dresses to burial shrouds. 3) Though the narrator did not always enjoy helping their elderly Great Aunt, they felt it was important to obey and be useful to elders. They easily threaded the needle to relieve Great Aunt Lucy's frustration.

1. Threadin’ the Needle!
Today was “my day” as I was romping and playing basketball in the
backyard. We had a a hot game of “horse” going. I clearly was
winning at this point and couldn’t seem to miss a basket no matter my
location around the grass court. Even my far away outside shot had
cleared that basket. Man I was hot that day. It was hot outside on that
July summer day.
My competition, of course, was comprised of the usual motley crew of
next-door neighbors, friends or siblings who happened to show up just
in time to get connected for the pick-up game.
My goal was clear…and that was to win! So, as I was about to take the
final killer shot from which victory would ensue, and I could complete
the ‘e” on the tail of the horse, there she appeared calling me from the
petite porch of her little house.
“She” was Great Aunt Lucy Locke Hutchinson, for whom I was
partially named. I mean, the middle name “Locke” without the “Lucy”
part, thank you Jesus.
At that time in young life, I had a love-not love relationship with Aunt
Lucy. I was so relieved that my parents had the good sense finally not
to completely name me after her. As it turned out, my I just got stuck
with the “Locke” part.
Maybe my ambivalence had to do with the time she slapped me clearly
across the face because I laughed out loud as she fitted a huge pair of
homespun shorts on my mama. Why, I thought they were the ugliest
things I had ever seen. Mind you, I was age 6 at the time. Little did I
know about sewing and of course in Aunt Lucy’s map, I was insolent.
As that slap stung the side of my face, I was shocked but didn’t cry. I
simply left dejected and drew quietly away from the scene. Mama didn’t
say a word. She knew better that to get in the frey. I guess she figured
that I learned somethin’ that day.
Anyway, I was no “expert” on sewing and Aunt Lucy had a
demonstrable history. I would’ve been wise to simply observe the
process but you know how kids are.

2. For certain, Aunt Lucy was hghly skilled as a seamstress and millinery
expert. Yep, mama told me so and it was true. Apparently, she catered
to a lot of the “high cotton” residents of our small hometown and was
the “go to” person to “get sumin” done correctly.
Not only did she make the wedding dresses to dress the brides, but she
made the groom’s clothes. Later on, she was hired to make the
christening gowns for their offspring. Believe it or not, she also made
shrouds for them when they died ‘cause she outlived most of them
anyway. Yes, Aunt Lucy took ‘em from “womb to tomb.”
So, out of a combination of learned respect, fear and obedience, I took
my last crisp shot, sailing through the basket, not even touchin’ the rim.
Just purity net. I was stoked.
Course, then I had to leave to help her and couldn’t watch to see what
my competition was doing in my absence…..probably cheatin’ would be
my guess………or minimally, advancing on my position as “winner”.
Oh well………..concessions made that were necessary.
So, it was, I reluctantly proceeded to drop the basketball and move
towards her house. There she stood, in the dim light of her little living
room, trying to get that darn sewing needle threaded again. Yes, I was
to be enlisted to “see” for her……again. As often was the case, one of
my sisters or brothers was conscripted to do little “sumthin” for her.
These little tasks were easy for us…..yet so difficult for her.
Funny, as a l0 year old, I could not imagine why she couldn’t see the
needle and thread. However, in some convoluted way, even though I
didn’t always like her, it felt good to be useful and of course, obedient to
my elder. As it was in the a 50s, all well bred southern children were
polite to elders. Whether I wanted to thread the needle or not wasn’t
really relevant. If I had other obligations with my friends waiting
outside to play, still, threading that needle was very significant to my
elderly Aunt.
Anyway, her level of frustration had obviously peaked by the time I
arrived in her small cottage on that sultry summer day in the south. I

3. could see the beads of perspiration pouring from her armpits into her
cotton frock. I just knew that she had been trying to thread that needle
for a long time. I felt kind of sorry for her. I even think I saw tears
beading up in her eyes. Anyway, she was also cranky. By this time,
Great-Aunt Lucy was approaching 88 years young. She still wanted to
mend, patch or “piece” together garmets. Somehow that satisfied an
instrinsic urge she had to create and keep her hands busy at the same
time. Well….of course, she had been doing sewing for her entire life.
For me, and my young doe-eyed vision, threading the needle was simple.
I proceeded to hold the needle up to the little light that streamed in
through the window as she thus directed, and “zap”, the silk thread
zoomed straight away into the tiny pinhead. Her countenance relaxed
and she seemed now more at ease. Little did I realize what an
incredible feat this was.
Later, as she would lay dying in her bed, yet undiagnosed with uterine
cancer, I would incredulously see her hands floating above her chest
and she was still threading that needle. I watched as her hands took the
imaginary thread and held it I her mouth. Then she would draw up the
needle in one hand closer to her range of vision and seem to pull the
thread through the folds of her lips and into the eye of the needle.
Somehow, this did not always work for her. It was then that she
beseeched me with the look of desperation in her eyes as she uttered “
here” “help me”> I would participate in placing the imaginary thread
through her imaginary needle. Finally “threaded”, her body would
relax and she then could take a nap knowing that the job was complete
Something so easy for me, a kid who knew little about sewing, millinery
or fashion at the time and was frankly unattached to the outcome.
Except that I knew I satisfied her need and that somehow validated me
deep in the well of my young soul.
Maybe it was a victory in that I could do something to redeem myself
to her and make up for snickering at her homespun shorts for mama
years before. I wanted to show my worthiness to her that’s for sure. Or
maybe it was the compassion that I felt for her circumstances…being
alone, a widow, childless, and having outlived friends and family long
ago. Or maybe it was just the sheer act of doing what the good book

4. refers to as “the golden rule”. Doing unto others as you would have
them do unto you. Now that’s powerful …especially played in the life of
a child with an elder.
Don’t know…..but probably all of these. Whatever it was, I don’t recall
her thanking me……………. …….nor do I recall expecting her to do so.