This chair is old. It holds so many precious memories for me. I used to sit in it and read. I’d watch the news. Discuss world issues. Ponder life’s problems. Dream about traveling to faraway places. Listen to tales of World War II. Eat snacks. Study and work on homework. This chair means a lot to me.
I’ve had people come to my house and make comments about my “old chair”. No, it doesn’t “go” with my decor. No, it isn’t new. Yes, it is ripped and showing it’s age. I don’t care. It’s mine and it means a lot to me.
The man that gave it to me was very special to me. He died in 2007. Sometimes I can still hear his stories and his laugh. He was like another Popaw to me. He gave me this chair a couple of months before he passed away because in his words, it had always been mine anyway.
I still sit in it sometimes and read. It’s comfortable even if it is worn. It’s big enough to fold up in with a blanket and a good book…or a napping little boy.
Rylan seems to like it just like I have all these years. He climbs up in it with a toy or a book and he’s content to sit there, which for him (or any toddler I suspect) is quite a feat.