The Parable of the Sweater
Inspired by Katie Hill
The sweater sat there on the manikin in the window. He wanted to be the warmest, most comfortable
sweater ever and was full of hope. He
watched the people go by. Some stopped
to look in the window at him; he would puff up just a little bit, sit a little
bit higher to show off his best side. He
did his best to show his warm fuzziness.
Some of those who looked in the window would come into the store and walk out with his brothers and sisters, but the sweater in the window was never chosen.
He began to believe that if someone would come in and just try him on, he would find a home and be able to show that he could be the warmest, most comfortable sweater ever. Alas, no one tried him on. His brothers and sisters were going home to be warm and comfortable, but no one wanted the sweater in the window.
He didn’t know how he knew; he could just sense that the time was growing short. He had to find someone to take him home soon, or he would never be able to fully achieve his potential. He tried hard to attract the attention of those who passed by the window but was unsuccessful.
The day came when he was taken out of the window, and he got his hopes up. Someone had finally chosen him, but no, he was put on a hanger and put on the discount rack. On the discount rack he was crowded in with a button down shirt and a t-shirt. They became friends but were soon separated as the people came and moved the clothes around. The sweater was squished and pulled and touched and dropped on the floor, but no one tried him on. He had been hanging so long that the hanger had made stretch marks in his shoulder seams.
He had almost lost hope when a little old lady picked him up and brought him to the register. The lady at the register put him in a box and wrapped him up. The sweater felt warm inside finally being able to go home and reach his potential.
He was in the box for what seemed like an eternity. It was dark, and he kept getting shook up, but the box did not open. The sweater wondered what the old lady was waiting for. She could see that he was warm and comfortable, right? She could see that he would be a good addition to her wardrobe, right?
Finally, the box was opened, and a boy pulled the sweater out of the box. He held it up to the light, showed it to the little old lady, showed it to the other people there. He put it on, rubbed it with his hands and preened in front of a mirror. The sweater was so happy. Here was someone who could see that this sweater was the warmest, most comfortable sweater ever. Here was someone who could appreciate the fine weave and the fuzziness that made such a warm and comfortable sweater. Here was someone who…
The little old lady left and the boy took the sweater off and threw him onto the closet floor. The sweater laid there wondering what happened. Wasn’t he warm? Wasn’t he comfortable? Why had the boy thrown him on the floor?
The sweater laid on the floor for a long time. He had shoes and books and jackets and other clothes thrown on him. He had toys and DVDs and backpacks and other things thrown on him. He was scrunched and squished and squashed and wrinkled. The only ray of light he ever saw was when the closet door would be briefly opened, usually to throw something else on top of him.
The sweater couldn’t figure out what had happened. He couldn’t blame the boy. After all, the boy had worn him long enough to know what the sweater was about. So there must be something intrinsically wrong with the sweater himself. He spent his time at the bottom of the closet in introspection, but he couldn’t see anything wrong with who he was or how he was made.
Another eternity passed until one day the closet door opened for longer than normal. A lady began taking things out of the closet, and the sweater’s burden began to get lighter. At the end of the day, the lady picked the sweater off the floor, shook him out and threw him into a black bag. The sweater didn’t know where he was going but figured that anywhere would be better than the bottom of the closet. The bag was crowded with all the things in the closet. One of the books was stretching out one of the sweater’s arm, but he didn’t mind.
The bag got darker, and the sweater felt more pressure from the outside. As time went on, the pressure continued to build until it seemed too much to endure. It got even greater. The sweater didn’t know where he was or what he had done to get there, all he could think about was the tremendous pressure, discomfort and darkness that he was currently experiencing. It was so bad that he even forgot about all of the other bad times that he had experienced.
Then the pressure began to lessen and the bag was opened. The fresh air was good. His arm felt better though it still looked a little stretched out. A woman grabbed him, shook him, pulled and prodded the stretch marks out of him and put him on a hanger that went on a rack with many other sweaters.
They were rolled out into a store and put on a different rack. They talked about their experiences and what they thought had happened, but our sweater was quiet. He didn’t know what was next, but his hope had almost completely left him.
He barely noticed when he was thrown into a cart, put into a plastic bag and taken to a new home. He even barely noticed that he was thrown on top of a bunch of somewhat smelly but very happy group of clothes of all types.
The sweater did notice the wash: swishing around in bubbles, floating back and forth in the rinse, spinning around at stomach churning speed, and then being taken out and thrown into the dryer. The warmth that soaked into every fiber of his being was incredible. He had never felt anything like it before. He felt warm and comfortable to himself. He knew, at that point, that he had fulfilled his lifelong dream. He was the warmest, most comfortable sweater ever.
A woman pulled him out of the dryer and immediately put him on. She hugged herself, sat near a crackling fireplace, sipped on some cocoa and opened up a book. The sweater knew that he had exceeded what he believed was his potential, and now, he really was the warmest, most comfortable sweater ever.
Some of those who looked in the window would come into the store and walk out with his brothers and sisters, but the sweater in the window was never chosen.
He began to believe that if someone would come in and just try him on, he would find a home and be able to show that he could be the warmest, most comfortable sweater ever. Alas, no one tried him on. His brothers and sisters were going home to be warm and comfortable, but no one wanted the sweater in the window.
He didn’t know how he knew; he could just sense that the time was growing short. He had to find someone to take him home soon, or he would never be able to fully achieve his potential. He tried hard to attract the attention of those who passed by the window but was unsuccessful.
The day came when he was taken out of the window, and he got his hopes up. Someone had finally chosen him, but no, he was put on a hanger and put on the discount rack. On the discount rack he was crowded in with a button down shirt and a t-shirt. They became friends but were soon separated as the people came and moved the clothes around. The sweater was squished and pulled and touched and dropped on the floor, but no one tried him on. He had been hanging so long that the hanger had made stretch marks in his shoulder seams.
He had almost lost hope when a little old lady picked him up and brought him to the register. The lady at the register put him in a box and wrapped him up. The sweater felt warm inside finally being able to go home and reach his potential.
He was in the box for what seemed like an eternity. It was dark, and he kept getting shook up, but the box did not open. The sweater wondered what the old lady was waiting for. She could see that he was warm and comfortable, right? She could see that he would be a good addition to her wardrobe, right?
Finally, the box was opened, and a boy pulled the sweater out of the box. He held it up to the light, showed it to the little old lady, showed it to the other people there. He put it on, rubbed it with his hands and preened in front of a mirror. The sweater was so happy. Here was someone who could see that this sweater was the warmest, most comfortable sweater ever. Here was someone who could appreciate the fine weave and the fuzziness that made such a warm and comfortable sweater. Here was someone who…
The little old lady left and the boy took the sweater off and threw him onto the closet floor. The sweater laid there wondering what happened. Wasn’t he warm? Wasn’t he comfortable? Why had the boy thrown him on the floor?
The sweater laid on the floor for a long time. He had shoes and books and jackets and other clothes thrown on him. He had toys and DVDs and backpacks and other things thrown on him. He was scrunched and squished and squashed and wrinkled. The only ray of light he ever saw was when the closet door would be briefly opened, usually to throw something else on top of him.
The sweater couldn’t figure out what had happened. He couldn’t blame the boy. After all, the boy had worn him long enough to know what the sweater was about. So there must be something intrinsically wrong with the sweater himself. He spent his time at the bottom of the closet in introspection, but he couldn’t see anything wrong with who he was or how he was made.
Another eternity passed until one day the closet door opened for longer than normal. A lady began taking things out of the closet, and the sweater’s burden began to get lighter. At the end of the day, the lady picked the sweater off the floor, shook him out and threw him into a black bag. The sweater didn’t know where he was going but figured that anywhere would be better than the bottom of the closet. The bag was crowded with all the things in the closet. One of the books was stretching out one of the sweater’s arm, but he didn’t mind.
The bag got darker, and the sweater felt more pressure from the outside. As time went on, the pressure continued to build until it seemed too much to endure. It got even greater. The sweater didn’t know where he was or what he had done to get there, all he could think about was the tremendous pressure, discomfort and darkness that he was currently experiencing. It was so bad that he even forgot about all of the other bad times that he had experienced.
Then the pressure began to lessen and the bag was opened. The fresh air was good. His arm felt better though it still looked a little stretched out. A woman grabbed him, shook him, pulled and prodded the stretch marks out of him and put him on a hanger that went on a rack with many other sweaters.
They were rolled out into a store and put on a different rack. They talked about their experiences and what they thought had happened, but our sweater was quiet. He didn’t know what was next, but his hope had almost completely left him.
He barely noticed when he was thrown into a cart, put into a plastic bag and taken to a new home. He even barely noticed that he was thrown on top of a bunch of somewhat smelly but very happy group of clothes of all types.
The sweater did notice the wash: swishing around in bubbles, floating back and forth in the rinse, spinning around at stomach churning speed, and then being taken out and thrown into the dryer. The warmth that soaked into every fiber of his being was incredible. He had never felt anything like it before. He felt warm and comfortable to himself. He knew, at that point, that he had fulfilled his lifelong dream. He was the warmest, most comfortable sweater ever.
A woman pulled him out of the dryer and immediately put him on. She hugged herself, sat near a crackling fireplace, sipped on some cocoa and opened up a book. The sweater knew that he had exceeded what he believed was his potential, and now, he really was the warmest, most comfortable sweater ever.