Dad's Chair

Memories of Dad's chair have a special place in my heart. The armchair with mahogany legs and handrests and brass upholstery tacks was never moved to other spots in our Walnut Street house. The chair and matching footstool --- invisibly bolted to the oak flooring for 56 years --- were reupholstered twice, as far as I can recall.

Dad's chair transported me to my youth and evenings watching television together. Dad and I chatted about the weather, sports, and whatever made the headlines that evening. Our favorite shows were 'anything cowboy,' especially Bonanza and The Rifleman. Another favorite was Red Skelton and I especially remember my dad's hearty laugh during that show. I felt special perched on the chair's matching footstool as Dad teased me by putting his bare feet on my back. He'd nudge me at the top of the hour—I'd get up, walk over to the television, and change the channel to one of the three choices available in the early 1960s. When Dad began to snore, I'd gently tap his foot, and if Mom witnessed this act, she'd scold, "Let your father rest."

Decades later, after Dad died and Mom moved into a memory care unit, my sisters and I went about emptying the family home and preparing it for sale. My parents didn't own material things of value. Although well cared for, most of their possessions were not worth much. The exceptions were the antique and pristine bedroom furniture. Those pieces stayed in the family.

However, I couldn't stand to let Dad's chair go to another family or worse yet, the dump! I paid to move the chair from Pennsylvania to Washington State and set it in the corner of the bedroom. I added a suitable end table and the perfect reading lamp. 'A fine reading nook,' I told myself happily, envisioning hours tucked away with a book.

It was the most uncomfortable chair in my house. I placed plywood under the seat cushion and propped bed pillows around me. I wasn't about to give it up. I sat in it maybe twice in three years.

With a heavy heart, I contemplated selling the chair. My son suggested photographing it, so it's not forgotten. The following summer, I posted the chair and footstool for sale on a local swap site and may have gotten back 1/10 of what it cost to ship it three years earlier.

Not long after I sold the chair, I got to thinking and realized that for the last decade or so of his life, Dad sat in a recliner -- not this chair that I was attached to. But I wasn't living with him when he purchased the recliner. The reality is that the chair and its footstool were uncomfortable for Dad in his senior years--now, my senior years.

I smile every time I see the photo. This winter, I think I'll watch some Bonanza and Red Skelton episodes. I'm sure they'll be available through one of many television streaming channels.