⏱ ~3 min reading
On his seventh birthday, Ivanko dreamed of a car. A big one, with a remote control, with lights that glow. He even showed a small drawing of such a car to his grandmother - secretly, so that she would know.
In the morning, guests arrived. Dad gave me a construction set. Mom gave me a big book about space. And Grandma came with a square package wrapped in rustling paper.
Ivanko opened it with a serious face. Inside lay a hat. Soft, woolen, dark blue, with a white stripe. And a small pompom on the side.
"Oh..." said Ivanko. And fell silent.
Grandma looked at him carefully. Her eyes were as blue as his hat.
— Do you like it?
"I like it," said Ivanko.
But something strange felt strange in his chest. He was waiting for a car. And he got a hat. An ordinary one. For the winter. Ivanko put it next to the designer - and went to open other gifts.
In the evening, when all the guests had left, Mom was clearing the table. Grandma was sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea. Ivanko was silently turning one of the cars from the construction set.
Mom sat down next to me.
— Ivanka. Do you know how long it took grandma to knit this hat?
— How much?
— A month. Every evening. After cleaning my house, feeding the cats, and making myself dinner, I sat in a chair and knitted.
Ivanko looked at his grandmother. She was looking out the window. She seemed a little sad.
— Why the moon?
"Because grandma's hands hurt. Arthritis. She knits slowly. Ten rows and she needs to rest.".
Ivanko took the hat in his hands. It was warm. He ran his fingers over the uneven places - where the threads were intertwined more densely. Every such knot - it was grandma thinking about him. Every row - an evening.
He approached his grandmother.
"Grandma. Thank you.".
Grandma smiled.
— Have you tried it on?
— Not yet.
She took the hat and pulled it over his head. The pompom lay on its side, neatly. The hat fit just right—as if it had been made specifically for his head.
— Is it good?
Mom brought a mirror. Ivanko looked. A dark blue hat with a white stripe. A pompom. And Grandma's smile over her shoulder.
"Grandma. Why did you make the hat?"
"Because anyone can buy a car. But no one can buy a hat like that. You have it alone in the world. And there's no one else like it.".
Ivanko stood in front of the mirror for a long time. The hat was warm. Not only on the outside. Something inside was also warming up.
- Will it be cold tomorrow?
“Minus two,” Dad said from the kitchen.
— I'll go in a hat.
In the morning, Ivanko went outside. The snow crunched under his feet. He adjusted the pompom - it had climbed behind his ear. He was warm in the hat. And he also felt like his grandmother was nearby. As if her hands were holding his head.
In the evening he put his hat by the bed. He placed the machine on top of the table as an ornament. And as he slept he thought about his grandmother, who was already putting away her knitting needles somewhere in her apartment. Ten rows and he would rest.
💡 Handmade is the most expensive.