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The Christmas Sweater Hardcover – Deckle Edge, November 11, 2008

4.4 out of 5 stars 750 customer reviews

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Editorial Reviews

About the Author

Glenn Beck, the nationally syndicated radio host and founder of TheBlaze television network, is a thirteen-time #1 bestselling author and is one of the few authors in history to have had #1 national bestsellers in the fiction, nonfiction, self-help, and children’s picture book genres. His recent fiction works include the thrillers Agenda 21, The Overton Window, and its sequel, The Eye of Moloch; his many nonfiction titles include Conform, Miracles and Massacres, Control, and Being George Washington. For more information about Glenn Beck, his books, and TheBlaze TV network, visit GlennBeck.com and TheBlaze.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

One

The wipers cut semicircles through the snow on the windshield. It's good snow, I thought as I slid forward and rested my chin on the vinyl of the front seat.

"Sit back, honey," my mother, Mary, gently commanded. She was thirty-nine years old, but her tired eyes and the streaks of gray infiltrating her otherwise coal black hair made most people think she was much older. If your age was determined by what you'd been through in life, they would have been right.

"But Mom, I can't see the snow when I sit back."

"Okay. But just until we stop for gas."

I scooted up farther and rested my worn Keds on the hump that ran through the middle of our old Pinto station wagon. I was skinny and tall for my age, which made my knees curl up toward my chest. Mom said I was safer in the backseat, but deep down I knew that it wasn't really about safety, it was about the radio. I was constantly playing with it, changing the dial from her boring Perry Como station to something that played real music.

As we continued toward the gas station, I could see the edge of downtown Mount Vernon through the snow. A thousand points of red and green Christmas lights lined the edges of Main Street. Hot summer days in Washington State were rare, but when they happened, the light poles covered in Christmas lights seemed out of place. They hung there in a kind of backward hibernation until a city worker would plug them in and replace the bulbs that didn't wake up. But now, in December, the lights were working their magic, filling us kids with excitement for the season.

That year I was more anxious than excited. I wanted it to be the year that Christmas finally returned to normal. For years, Christmas mornings in our home had been filled with gifts and laughter and smiling faces. But my father had died three years earlier -- and it seemed to me that Christmas had died with him.

Before my father's death I didn't think much about our financial situation. We weren't wealthy, we weren't poor -- we just were. We'd had a nice house in a good neighborhood, a hot dinner every night and, one summer, when I was five years old, we even went to Disneyland. I remember getting dressed up for the airplane ride. The only other vacation I remember happened a few years later when my parents took me to Birch Bay -- which sounds exotic but was really just a rocky beach about an hour away from our home.

Back then we never wanted for anything, except maybe more time together.

My father bought City Bakery when I was young -- it had been in town since the 1800s. He put in long hours at work, leaving almost every morning before the sun (or his son) rose. My mother would get me off to school, clean up around the house a little, start some laundry, and then join him at the bakery for the rest of the day.

After school I would walk to the bakery to help my parents out. On some days the walk took less than half an hour, but it usually took me a lot longer. At least a few days each week I would stop at the edge of downtown in the middle of the bridge that crossed the I5 freeway and watch the cars and trucks whiz by. A lot of kids would stand there and spit onto the roadway below, hoping to hit a car, but I wasn't that kind of kid. I just imagined myself spitting.

I complained a lot about having to be at the bakery so much, especially when my dad made me wash the pots and pans, but secretly I loved to watch him work. Others might have called him a baker, but I thought of him as a master craftsman or a sculptor. Instead of a chisel he used dough, and instead of clay he used frosting -- but the result was always a masterpiece.

Dad and my uncle Bob both apprenticed in their father's bakery from the time they were my age. Donning aprons, they washed a seemingly never-ending line of pots and pans, and they would learn recipes after school. In my dad's case, it wasn't long before the apprentice was more skilled than the master.

Dad just had a knack for baking. He was the only one in the family who could bring his recipes to life. It wasn't long before City Bakery's breads and desserts were known as the best in town. Dad loved his creations almost as much as he loved his family.

Saturdays were special because it was the day my father spent most of his time icing and decorating cakes. Not coincidentally, it was also the day I liked to work with him the most. Well, work might be a bit of an exaggeration, as I didn't do much baking myself. Taking bread out of the proof box after it had risen was about as far as he'd let me go -- but I watched him closely, and I took advantage of my role as "official frosting taster" as often as possible.

Although Dad continually tried to teach me his recipes, I never quite got them down. Mom blamed it on my having the attention span of a gnat, but I knew it was really because I liked eating better than I liked baking. I was never interested in being a baker; it was too much work and you had to get up way too early. But Dad never gave up hope that one day I might change my mind.

His first mission was to teach me how to make cookies, but not long after putting me in charge of the cookie dough and mixer he realized he'd made a mistake. A big mistake. If he'd left me alone with that raw dough for just a few more minutes, he wouldn't have had enough left to bake. After that, Dad smartly switched his tactic from hands-on lessons to pop quizzes. He'd show me how to make a few batches of German chocolate cake, then he'd test me on the recipe and toss flour in my face when I invariably mentioned some ingredient that had no business being in a cake. Like meat.

One day, right in the middle of an apple-strudel quiz, Dad's cashier (my mother) came into the back to ask if he'd mind helping a customer. This wasn't entirely unusual -- Dad would come up front once in a while, mainly in the afternoons while the ovens were cooling and my mom made the daily trip to the bank. I think it was secretly one of his favorite times of the day; he was a real people person, and he loved to watch the faces of his customers as they sampled his latest creation.

That day, I watched as Dad greeted Mrs. Olsen, a woman who seemed to me like the oldest person in town. She was a regular customer. When my mom waited on her, I noticed that she'd always spend a little extra time just listening to Mrs. Olsen's stories. I guess she thought Mrs. Olsen was lonely. Dad treated her with the same kind of respect. He smiled warmly as he spoke to her, and I noticed the faintest hint of a smile begin to form on her face as well. Dad had that effect on a lot of people.

Mrs. Olsen had come in for a single loaf of bread, but Dad spent five minutes trying to talk her into everything from his napoleons to his German chocolate cake. She kept refusing, but my dad insisted, saying it was all on him. She finally relented, and her smile stretched from ear to ear. She told him that he was too kind. I remember the word "kind" because I thought it was simple, and yet so true. My dad was kind.

After her bread had been bagged and her free treats boxed, Mrs. Olsen reached into her purse and pulled out a kind of money I'd never seen before. As far as I could tell it wasn't cash. It looked more like coupons -- except we didn't offer any coupons. As she turned to leave the store, my heart began to race. Had Dad just been scammed right in front of me? The bakery paid our bills (and, more importantly, it paid for my presents). I crept up next to my father at the cash register and, not thinking she could hear me, whispered, "Dad, that's not money."

Mrs. Olsen stopped dead in her tracks and looked at my father. He, in turn, glared at me. "Eddie, into the back, please. Right now." His voice had a definite edge to it. He then gave Mrs. Olsen a sympathetic nod and another warm smile, and she turned and continued out the door. I knew I was in trouble.

As I walked through the opening into the back, my face felt hotter than the oven I was now standing in front of. "Eddie, I know you didn't mean it, but do you know how embarrassing that was for Mrs. Olsen?"

"No," I replied. I honestly didn't.

"Eddie, Mrs. Olsen is a very good customer of ours. Her husband passed away about a year ago and she's had a hard time making ends meet. You're right, what she gave me isn't money, but it's just like it for people who need it. They're called food stamps, and our government is helping her buy groceries until she can get back on her feet. We don't talk about them in front of her because she doesn't like the fact that she has to ask others for help."

Dad explained that while our family would never accept help from anyone, especially the government, there were good people who needed it. I immediately felt sorry for Mrs. Olsen -- sorry for anyone who needed to rely on others for that kind of help. And I was glad that we would never be in that position.

A few months later I got a chance to prove to my father that I'd learned my lesson.

Mom had once again run to the bank, and I was in the front of the store putting fresh macaroons into the display case while Dad waited on customers. I watched as, once again, he accepted the funny-looking coupons as payment -- this time from a guy buying bread, a pie, and a dozen cookies. But now, instead of warm smiles, friendly conversation, and yummy dessert suggestions, my father was completely silent.

After the customer left it was my turn to do the questioning. I followed him into the back. "What's wrong, Dad?" I asked.

"I know that man, Eddie. He can work, but he chooses not to. Anyone who can earn money has no business taking it from others."

I eventually came to understand that my father, who'd grown up poor and struggled for everything we owned, had continually rejected offers of help from others. He had worked hard to build a business and provide for his family. He believed others should do the same. "The government," he told me one night, "is there to act as a safety net, not a candy machine."

I don't know if my mother had grown up with the same att... --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

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Product Details

  • Hardcover: 284 pages
  • Publisher: Threshold Editions; Reissue edition (November 11, 2008)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 141659485X
  • ISBN-13: 978-1416594857
  • Product Dimensions: 5 x 1 x 7 inches
  • Shipping Weight: 4 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
  • Average Customer Review: 4.4 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (750 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #365,696 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

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Format: Hardcover
I'll be honest. I am a 27 year old male who has not read a book since I was forced to in high school. I am a fan of Glenn Beck and when he tells stories on his radio show I find myself glued to my seat until he is finished telling it. When I found out he wrote a book, something inside me just had to read it. This book reads just like Glenn is sitting there telling me the story himself. It was impossible to put down. I thought I'd have it finished within a month or two. I finished it in 2 evenings. I hate to admit it, but by the end, I was crying like a baby. Eddie is a character that everyone can relate to. Please, do yourself a favor and read it. When you're finished, give it to someone else to read. It's just that good. Glenn, thank you so much for this story. I will treasure it forever.
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Format: Hardcover
The Christmas Sweater is a story that will ring home with everyone who reads it. I finished the book in two-sittings. Mr. Beck tells his story with vivid imagery that flows so smoothly that you are almost watching it unfold. All of the characters are familiar, along with what they are experiencing. It is a fairly simple story and can be somewhat predictable, but rings true with every word. The climax will leave an unforgettable impression that will truly inspire you to spread the gift that this book offers. I believe this book will appeal to people from all walks of life and the message will leave some, if not most, in tears.
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Format: Hardcover
I received my pre-ordered book last Friday, and finished it in less than 12 hours. At first I was disappointed that the message wasn't stronger, that the end didn't just hit me like Glenn predicted.

But as I went on afterwards and thought about it, the more it hit me. The power of this message is in redemption, it's in knowing how to handle the storms in your life and knowing who you can always count on. I now look at people in a different light, from my family to our friends to my kid's friends, trying to figure out what part of their personal storm they're in. I also look at myself, trying to decide to be a Russell or Glenn's grandpa, and actively help people along to get through their storm. It's a personal challenge to me to do even more than what I have in the past to be the person that God has wanted me to be. It's definitely worth the time to read.
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Format: Hardcover
Yesterday I received an advanced order copy of Glenn Beck's book. Last night instead of watching mindless TV programs I began reading it. I have only read two other books cover to cover in one sitting, Living at the Summit by Dr. Tom Hill and The Little Gold Book of YES!Attitude by Jeffrey Gitomer but last night I read The Christmas Sweater cover to cover. Glenn Beck is well known for his political commentary and should anyone decide NOT to read his book because of his beliefs, it will be their loss. This is an amazing novel, not a political commentary, about a 12 year old boy who experiences rough times growing up and how he responds or better, reacts. It is a book about growing up, about believing in yourself, about having faith, and about change. The book brought back memories of people, places, things and events in my own life as a youngster that I had completely forgotten about. The book is based in part about Glenn's life as he explains at the end. It is a very compelling read that I not only recommend everyone reading but the book would make a fantastic Christmas gift especially if you get the collector's hard cover edition. Gymbeaux
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Format: Hardcover
The Christmas Sweater
By Glenn Beck

Generally when the name Glenn Beck comes up in a conversation you get one of three responses, those responses are: "Oh, I love him!", "That stupid @#$%$#@*$#!" or simply a heart felt, "er...who?". Mr. Beck is one of the nations leading syndicated radio commentators and is best known outside radio for his best selling, "An Inconvenient Book", and his TV & stage shows.

This work is a departure from his normal hard hitting conservative commentary. Not quite what I would call a coming of age story but more a commentary on how our adult values are formed during our childhood and how those adults around a child have a profound influence on them weather they know it or not. Weather you are a conservative, liberal, right or left, this book transcends political boundaries and looks deep within the readers psyche and plucks out a long buried memory and , in my case, a smile. I normally do not do reviews on fiction because I'd hate to spoil the ending for someone but in this case I'll make an exception. Highly recommended uplifting story that makes you feel good. I found that despite the books length, around 280 pages, I blew thru it rather quickly, I just could not put it down. You will find someone that you know hidden in these pages, and be uplifted for it, I can almost guarantee it. I know that a book that raises your spirits isn't what most critics are looking for these days, so consider it a nostalgic retro feeling. I think this shows that Mr Glenn has a soft side, other than that cake thing. Thanks for helping me find some old memories Mr. Beck, keep up the good work.

In Frith,
Spence The Elder
"Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc"
M. Addams
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