The Table

         I remember when I was nothing more than peices of wood leaning against the wall in that cold barn. I had been bought from the lumbar yard the only the week before, and each peice had been picked out with such care and consideration that I knew that I would become something great, and here I am, her most prised posession.
 
         It was her brother who made me, but I didn't know that then. I just knew that what he did made me feel beautiful, and special. He was good too, everyone has always comented on his craftmanship of me, on how beautiful I am and how well put together I am. Even now, almost sixty years later, I've heard them say I still look like the day I was given to her, my wonderful owner.
 
         Her brother worked long hours on me, getting every peice just right, before he put me together. Even as he was working on me, and putting me together I remember that after each day that he spent working on me, he would pause just before he left and look me over and the pride that shown from his eyes was so amazing and so bright. If it had been a fire it would have consumed the entire barn it was so bright.