Holiday Sweaters

Holiday Sweaters

     ‘My son, Migal, is a very weird kid at age ten. Most kids his age wants a toy car or truck, or an Action Doll. Maybe a bicycle or a skate board. But not my kid. He wants a sweater – but not just any sweater. Migal wanted a holiday sweater. And if he doesn’t get one he’s going to cry until the next holiday. Luckily, that’s only a couple of months away.’ Sarri thought as she finished decorating the Living Area of their house.

     ‘It all started five years ago when his father gave him an ugly holiday sweater. Me and his father had legally dissolved our marriage when Migal was two. At first his father didn’t want anything to do with Migal. But then a couple of years later he showed up at holiday time to spend some time with his son.’ Sarri stepped back to take a look at what she had done.

     ‘Migal loved it. He also loved the present that his father gave him. It was an ancient Warrior Mask. Migal’s father, Tonym, was a GraveDigger. Even though he was told it was only to look at, not played with, Migal wore it all the time. He even wore it to The Learning Center. That’s why I was so scared when he started wearing those ugly holiday sweaters to Learning.’ Sarri stood in the door to look at her Living Area.

     ‘It’s the next year that his father gave him his first ugly holiday sweater. It also came from some ruins someplace. Tonym said it was a holiday sweater, and it did look like one, but it wasn’t. Migal never has heard that truth about his father before. Hopefully, he never will.’ Sarri sat in a chair, and looked at the big decorated tree in the corner.

     ‘A couple of months later was when Tonym died during a ruins collapse. When he didn’t show up for the next holiday about a month later Migal knew something was wrong. We were told about the death a few weeks later. It’s been just him and me since then.’ Sarri got up, and went to the tree to re-arrange some of the decorations.

     ‘Since that was the last present that he got from his father Migal loved that ugly holiday sweater even more. He wore it everywhere. I tried to get him to stop wearing it. But I couldn’t. Migal wouldn’t even let me get it cleaned. It didn’t take it long before it started unraveling and smelling. That didn’t stop him from wearing it either.’ Sarri returned to her chair.

     ‘To this day he has that sweater. It’s in his Cloths Room. Once a week I go in there to spree it. Every year since then that’s all he wanted for birthdays, holidays etc. as a present. And he cried until the next event if he didn’t get one. One year I didn’t get him one. And he cried so much I thought we were going to be flooded out of our house. Luckily the next event was only two months away.’ Sarri smiled at what she had created.

     ‘This year I’m not going to give him a sweater. Most kids his age hate to get cloths for a present. And he was going to be one of those kids. If he started to cry he would be punished. Depending on how long he continued to cry would determine what painful that punishment would be. I don’t want to have to do that. But I will if I have to. It’s about time he became a normal kid again.”

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     ‘Migal had always loved trains. It didn’t matter if they were track, sea or overhead trains he loved them all – especially the older one since most trains were a thing of the past nowadays. Trains still existed. But not as much as they used to. Now they are all cargo trains, but they used to be mostly passenger trains. People would travel around looking at the land or the seas or the land and/or seas from above. That’s what I decided to get him instead of a sweater this year: And overhead train set. It had everything from a Tip to the Engine compartment.’ Sarri sat in her chair impatiently waiting for her son to get there.

     ‘A few minutes later Migal came bouncing in the room. He headed right for the tree. It didn’t take him long to find his present. Or to open it. Migal tore the wrapping right off of it. I always took mine off very carefully. But Migal never has. He’s just like his father. His father never did it nicely either. When Migal opened his present he smiled. Maybe I was wrong about the sweater. Did Migal outgrow his sweater fascination?’ Sarri smiled at that thought.

     “I love my present,” said Migal. “Thank you so much mother.”

     Migal opened it up just like he unwrapped it. Once opened he pulled it out. And started checking it out. Within minutes he had had the Tip and the Engine compartments connected. He played with them for about an hour. Then he started putting the rest of the train together. Once it all got put together he started playing with it too. He did that for about an hour too.

     Then suddenly he put it down. And he returned to the tree. He frantically started looking for something. “What are you looking for?” Sarri finally asked?

     “I can’t find it,” Migal said. “Where is my sweater from my dad.”

     “You didn’t get a sweater for the holiday this year,” said Sarri. “The train set is your present this holiday.”

     “Yes, I know they are from you mother,” said Migal. “And I love them too. But where is my sweater from my father. I don’t see it anywhere.”

     “There is not sweater this year,” replied Sarri. “The trains, and only the trains, are your present this year.”

     “That isn’t true.” Migal started getting upset. Sarri could tell from the sound of his voice. “My father wouldn’t forget my sweater. He’s just late in getting it to me this year.”

     Suddenly Sarri realized what was going on. ‘Migal thinks his father is still alive. I told him he was gone. But for a five- year-old that must have meant being at another set of ruins - especially since I have been giving him sweaters for the last five years. This is all my fault.”

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     “You’re the MindMaster. How do I tell a ten-year-old that his father is dead?” Sarri sat in a big fluffy soft chair in an office. Sitting across from her with a MiniPad in her hands sat Brette.

     Brette took notes on that MiniPad of everything she and Sarri talked about. “That is a hard one to handle. There’s no easy way to tell a child that young his father is dead. I’m talking about when he was five. At ten it shouldn’t be as hard. But it will be hard though.”

     “But how do I do it. Whatever you say I will do,” said Sarri.

     “I can’t tell you what to do. But I will tell him for you if you want me too,” said Brette.

     “The scared part of me wants you to do it. But the mother part says I need to do it myself,” Sarri said with a sigh.

     “Let me know if you change your mind,” said Brette. Just then a buzzing sound could be heard coming from Brette’s bare arm. She touched it. And the sound stopped. “That’s all the time we have for today. I’ll see you next week at the same time. I hope you have some good news about your son Migal.”

     “I hope so too.” Sarri got up and headed for the do. Just before she exited the sliding open door she turned back toward Brette. “I hope I do too.”

The Word Count for this story, including this line, is 1331.