Christmas Sweater

As I watched the snowfall on the ground, I reflected on some of my previous Christmases. Most were spent with people I barely knew since I'm in foster care. I have been in the system since I was three. Both of my parents died in a car accident, and I didn't have any other family besides them. My whole life has consisted of hopping from family to family. I don't mind, though; I don't need a family. I am perfectly fine on my own, and I have been for the past thirteen years. Last year's Christmas was a disaster. My foster dad slapped me across my face for dropping some swear words in front of their three-year-old son. Two Christmases prior, I had to watch the kids in the family tear into some presents and then complain about how it wasn't the latest iPhone. Hell, I'd be happy if I even had a phone. Yeah, Christmases weren't my forte.I had no doubt that this Christmas wouldn't be anything spectacular. Just another Christmas spent with strangers I have no connection to. Amid my pondering, I heard a knock at my temporary bedroom door. It must be by foster mom Beth. She’s always trying to get to know me, and while it was nice, I'm just not that kind of person. "Good morning Marcy. Would you like to come downstairs and open presents with us?" my foster mother asked. I rolled my eyes, "No, I'm fine up here," I said in the most annoyed tone I could muster to get my point across. I didn't hate my foster mom. She was kinder than most. I just wanted to be left alone. "Oh please, Marcy. You can go back to your room after an hour, and I won't even make you join us for Christmas dinner." She was practically begging at this point. I did feel kinda bad, so if it was only for an hour, I guess I could deal. "Fine, only an hour." I said, void of any emotion. "Thank you so much, Marcy! It really means a lot to me. I'll be downstairs with Jonah. Come join us when you're ready." Ah, Jonah, he was my foster mom's husband. He was a quiet man. He didn't talk to me much, but I never cared. If anything, I appreciated the silence he offered. He and I often sat in comfortable silence. Uncomfortable small talk wasn't necessary for us to enjoy our time together. He never pressured me to open up about my life or the things I've gone through. I gave a deep sigh and begrudgingly made my way to the living room, where I saw the Christmas tree with piles of presents. I took my seat on the couch and curled up with a soft blanket. My foster mom came around and handed me a present. I was surprised by this because I rarely got presents from foster families. Usually, I was nothing but an extra monthly income. I expected them to make me watch while they opened presents. "Here, Marcy…for you." She said in a soft voice. I carefully unwrapped the present. When I opened the box, I pulled out a knit sweater. This may seem like a boring present to an ordinary person, but for me it was amazing. I've never had an article on clothing that was new. My clothes were either thrifted or hand-me-downs, so this meant the world to me. I could feel the tears slide down my cheeks, and I tried to quickly wipe them away. "I knitted this sweater together myself. I hope you like it" My foster mom's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Yeah…I just, um…thanks for the gift," I said quietly. "Of course, there are also tons of other presents for you under the tree!" My foster dad exclaimed. I was in utter disbelief. I had never had someone who cared about me this much. Sometimes I did receive gifts from my foster families, but never this many. But the fact that this family had gotten me multiple presents made me cry. I had never felt like I mattered much in any of the homes I've been in, but these people thought I mattered tight? Because why would they go out of their way to give me presents? I felt a part of something for the first time in my life. The fact that they had gotten me more presents wanted to make me cry harder, but I tried my best to conceal my emotions. My foster mom began to speak, "I don't know everything that you have gone through, and I can't even begin to fathom it, but I want you to know that you are loved here. You will always have a safe space with us." As the day progressed, I talked to my foster parents for hours. I learned that my foster dad, Jonah, was a lawyer who worked at a small firm. My foster mom Beth, worked for a bank a couple miles down the road. They told me how much they wanted a kid, but Beth couldn't conceive. That's how they got into becoming foster parents. I told them about my previous foster families and how my parents died. We sat on the couch, conversing for what felt like hours and hours. At that moment, everything just seemed at peace. No fighting or yelling like Christmases past, just them and me. For a brief second, I could almost convince myself that this was my family, which felt really good. It was nice to have people care. Finally, my foster got up and asked if I'd join them for dinner. Then, I noticed how early this morning I didn't even want to spend an hour with them. It's funny how things can change within a couple hours. "Sure," I said. "I'd love to." At the end of the night, I watched the snowfall once more. I was wearing my hand-knit sweater and some boots I had also received as a present. While standing in the snow, I came to the simple conclusion that Christmas wasn't so bad if spent with people that care for you.