Where Aren't They Now: 11

Tyler made that sweater, you know.

No, his grandmother didn't teach him. No, he didn't take a course at Michaels' Crafts. He taught himself, out of a book he found at the library. It wasn't that hard, once you got the hand of the basic knots. He could even do it while he was watching television.

Tyler never brought any of this up in front of his friends, of course. His knack for knitting wasn't the kind of thing a growing kid would willingly advertise, but it was the only thing that made sense to him. He wasn't great at any of the subjects in school-- much better at working with his hands. The crappy magazine collages you do in art class hardly count as expression.

In high school, when Tyler was finally introduced to classes like wood shop, he recognized that there were other interesting ways to work with your hands. But for the majority of his prepubescence he came home after school, knitted until his mind cleared, and went to bed.

Each time he finished a project he unraveled it. The exception is the sweater shown here, but it made him blush so brightly for the entire day that he did not dare to wear it a second time.