If I’m reunited with Dad again in another life, I fully expect him to be wearing his navy blue sweater with the red and white overlapping diamonds. It might as well have been Dad’s weekend uniform during the winter. In the summertime, he had a stable of short-sleeved shirts, always with a pocket where he kept his smokes. But for some reason, that sweater stands out in my mind more than anything else he wore.
It’s probably because he wore it for holidays and “special” outings. The sweater itself was nothing special. It probably came right off the rack at Kmart and was made in China by illegal labor. It was thin, but those Southern California winters weren’t exactly brutal, ha. Dad’s smoking habit stubbornly clung to the threads of that sweater, no matter how religiously Mom washed it.
I wouldn’t be surprised if that old sweater, probably mended by Mom a dozen times over the years, still exists. It may still be hanging in their closet, or tucked away in a dresser drawer, never to be worn by its original owner again.