As a child, we had a little toy sewing machine with which I learned how to sew. It belonged to my older sister, but I got to use it when she had ‘graduated’ to using mom’s real sewing machine.
This toy sewing machine wasn’t one of those little plastic things that would stop if it encountered your finger… no, this is in all respects a real sewing machine, just tiny. Built back in the day when children were expected to listen when parents said ‘be careful, you can run that needle clear through your finger’ and get scolded when they allowed it to happen through their own carelessness. As I recall, I never stuck my finger with this machine. (I did however, run the needle through my finger with the big sewing machine, once I got old enough to use it! As I recall, I never mentioned it to my parents that I was stupid enough to let my finger get caught by that needle! I quietly cleaned it up, put on a band-aid, and went back to my sewing.)
I recently went to visit my sister in Arizona, and while I was there, she gave me the old sewing machine. My brother shipped it back for me, since my suitcase was already full. When I got it, I unpacked it, cleaned it up, and put a new belt on it and it is as good as new! One day there may be a little girl in my life that I can teach to sew with this machine. In the meantime, it will set on a shelf, and will hopefully not collect too much dust.
Text about Whidbey Island.