While rummaging through the lower drawer of the dresser I discovered this sweater. My paternal grandmother knitted it for me as a gift. I figured out this sweater must be 30 years old or more, for she died in the mid-80s.

As Someone likes to say to youngsters “I have sweatshirts older than you!”

I remember receiving it with less than enthusiasm. First of all the colour didn’t suit me. It is a sort of ochre, the type never seen in a sweater. It was also ‘button down’ rather than a pull-over; it made me feel old to wear it. The real issue at the time was bewilderment. Grandmother wasn’t the sort you would envision knitting. I have no recall of ever seeing her knitting, and I don’t remember she did for a specific reason like a birthday. One day suddenly she announced here it is and it was for me.
I held onto it out of guilt. As stated the colour and style didn’t strike my fancy. As a man in my 20s it made me feel dowdy. But throwing it out or giving it to charity was out of the question. It’s traveled around with me through the decades. I will stumble across it; it would wave its arms at me and ask ‘how about now?” and I would close the box or drawer without replying ‘when’.

Now I’ve reached the age in my life when I appreciate its company. It still fits; thanks to little use. It feels like ‘new’. Putting it on this chilly winter night I realize with some sadness and regret I have never buttoned it – the buttons are a bit too large for the still tight button holes.

So as an old man I finally claim my ‘prize’ as she called gifts.

Thank you Grandmother, for you gift of warmth and memory.