A father's chair

A father's chair:

It can represent many things about the father and to the family. Was it the place where he bounced you upon his knee and tickled you when you were little? Did he thwo you into it time and again as you rough housed endearing together? As you grew older and became interested in sports, did you root for your favorite sports teams together as he let you share his favorite spot.

Or was your father's chair a little more foreboding? Was it a place to be avoidedas he collapsed into it at the end of the day; exhausted from a job he hated? He would only mumble through his fatigue that you you should go get him his paper and a beer. perhaps, he would even call you from the othe room to change the channel. Kids were the precursorsto remote controls for some parents. You dreaded if he asked you about school or your friends as you were sure that withiering criticism would follow no matter what your response. "What your grades should be better than that!" What are you hanging around with that loser for? Jesus Christ don't you listen to anything I tell you? Sometimes the verbal abuse was fololwed by a cuff to the back of the head or a kick in the pants so long as he didn't have to get up from his chair.

You wondered what would hapoen if the chair just disapeared. Mom was threatening to throw the ratty piece of crap out. Would he be kinder then? Would he actually rise up and come to see some of your little league games? it seemed he was kinder or less critical away from the chair. it seemed to be the source of his ill will and animus to you and the world.

Tthe chair and your father seemed a little more worn down as each year passed by. Every wrinkle or tear in the fabric seemed to mirror a rending of another of your father's hopes and dreams. He passed from job to job first as a typewriter salesman, then selling regular office supplies. He finaly ended up as a security guard at a hospital. regardless, he always came home to his now dlapidated but beloved chair. You know miserly loves company.

By this point, you had stopped caring. You knew what to expect from this angry and worn out man and wanted no more of his criticism. He stayed in his chair. You stayed in your room. He hid on his make believe throne with his beer and tv. You stayed in your room with your books. Your escape came through the literary world. he woulnd't budge from his chair and you, in your typical teenage anger couldn't be bothered to try and move him from his seat of despair. "East is East, West and West and never shall father and son meet"

It's amazing how long that chair survived.The tears were either taped over or mended. The frame just held up. It seemed as if it drew strenth for the sorrows and disappointment of my dad's life. Even as he receded into its comfortable folds each night, it somehow sucked more and more of the life out of him.

Dad died of cancer in 1992, a bitter man who had lived in an apartment in a two story house owned by his sister-in-law;a women who he could not abide. Mom became the eventual bread winner inthe family and treated Dad all the more disdainfully for it. But, to the end, he had that damn chair a mirror of his sorry, failed life. It was too comfortable, too fitting. Perhaps if it had a few splinters. He would have rebelled more; sought out more meaning in his life.

Well,, it seemed for a while you would folow the same sad course in your life. Despite earning a degree from a wel repsected college you drifted from job to job before finally getting married and going to law school. Even then like your father, you lived in apartment in your in-law's house. You too now had a "Chair".

But there were a few noticeable changes. Your chair bcame part of a cherished game of "Hut 1,Hut 2 and Hut 3 with your son. it was the goal line for your son to reached before you grabbed him and through him laughing crazily into the couch. The chair was part of endearing roghhousing. You have never asked your son to get up and go get you a beer. Yeah, you have made your mistakes with too much crticism and harshness but your chair has had little to do with that. You own that and realize you can't blamne it on a piece of furniture.

You have your own house now. Something Dad never accomplished. Yes, you have another chair. But as comfy as this chair is, you prefer the couch next to your wife and children. The chair, except for the times when you ar exiled because of a "chick" show is relatively unused. There are very few tears and creases in your chair and you'll do your damnedestto keep it that.