The Father’s Day Gift
Father’s Day was in two weeks. I didn’t know what to get Dad. Last year I made him a coupon book. This year I wanted to do something different. I just had no idea what.
At dinner Dad accidentally dipped his favorite blue tie into his soup bowl. The tie was ruined. I suddenly knew what to get Dad for Father’s Day!
“How much does a tie cost?” I asked Mom the next morning.
“Depends,” she said. “Some can cost twenty dollars. Do you have enough allowance money Carter?”
“No.” My shoulders sank. “There goes that idea,” I huffed.
When I got to my room to change into my school clothes I noticed a rip in my shirt.
“Mom I need you to sew my shirt, it’s ripped,” I yelled, rushing out the door to the school bus.
At school I picked at the hole in my shirt. I thought about how I could come up with enough money to buy a tie. I took a deep sigh, and played with the hole some more. As the hole grew in size, an idea sprung into my mind.
I bolted through the front door and straight to my room. I dug frantically through my closet trying to find other ripped clothes.
“Mom!” I yelled down the hall heading towards her.
“Can I cut these clothes up to make Dad a tie for Father’s Day? They are already ripped.” I pointed out the holes to Mom.
“I guess,” she said.
“And,” I added, “Can you show me how to sew?”
“Yes Carter, let’s start now before Dad gets home,” Mom said, heading for her sewing supplies.
I followed Mom’s instructions to threat the needle and place the fabric flat. I gently pressed my foot to the foot-petal. The needle plunged, the fabric bunched, and the threat knotted. “No!” I whined.
“Try again Carter,” Mom instructed.
I took a deep breath, gently applied my foot to the petal again. The needle plunged and stopped. The machine made a horrible sound. “Forget it! I can’t do this!” I moaned and stomped to my room.
After sitting in my room a while I realized that I if I wanted to give Dad a Father’s Day gift I would have to learn to sew or at least keep trying.
Every day after school, I would try, and try, and try. Finally, I was able to work the machine and with less than a week to go. The first stitches were big and far apart. But I grew better and my stitching became closer together and looked nice.
On Father’s Day I handed Dad a thin wrapped box. He torn the wrapping paper off and opened the box. “Wow! This is great Carter!” he said, holding up the patchwork tie.
“I remember that shirt of yours,” Dad said pointing out the patches. “Thank you very much.”
Dad’s hug was big and warm. “I’ll be sure to take this off when I eat soup,” he said, and we both laughed.