I Saw Chairs!

     

Sarah Christmas 1986

       My mom had two Christmas stories about me that she would be sure to repeat every year just in case there was someone about who had not heard the anecdotes as yet. Now that she is gone, it is up to me to be sure and have them heard each holiday season. The first story is about the time Mom took me to see Santa Claus for the very first time. As we were waiting in line, Mom asked me what I was going to ask Santa for Christmas? She needed some ideas and thought this would be a good way to find out. I told her I was not going to ask Santa for anything. “Why not?” Mom inquired. And I said, “If he knows when I'm sleeping and he knows when I'm awake, then he knows what I want for Christmas!” Every time Mom told that story, I appreciated the logic of the very young me.

             The second story was about another even earlier Christmas. This was probably when I was two, before my brothers were born. Santa brought a child-size table and chairs. When I got up in the morning, seeing the trimmed tree (Santa used to bring the tree when delivering the presents – the tree was not in the house when I went to bed on Christmas Eve!) and decorations along with the presents and the table and chairs and all the activity and company that followed with the day, how could I have thought anything other than that something magical had happened? A miracle!

Me and Clark 1957

             And so when bedtime came that Christmas night, I refused to go! I sat in one of the chairs at the new table and calmly announced I was not going to leave the tree and the gifts. Apparently I was worried that if all this neat stuff appeared out of nowhere one night, it could just as easily disappear too! I was not going to let these things out of my sight! I did not use words nor otherwise tried to explain this, I merely sat in the chair not budging. Mom and Dad, instead of getting all parental and forcing me to go to bed, explained that they were going to turn off the light and go to bed themselves. I stayed where I was. A while later my Dad got up to check on me. When he returned to bed, he told Mom that I was sitting in the chair staring into the dark. The story does not include whether or not I was still there in the morning, but the presents were there – my sentry duty had protected them.

             Over the years the table and chairs were central in the childhood of my brothers and me. We sat at the table for board games and artwork. The table made a foundation for forts, the chairs lined up as train cars, all were great for role playing. And of course, for family get-togethers during holidays, the set became, of course, the kids' table for the meal.

             When Sarah was born, it came to mind that she needed a kid's table and chairs for her youth. The year we moved to Oklahoma, Sarah was two, and I was pregnant with Amanda – their Dad and I picked out a little table with four chairs from, I think it was, Sears. Putting the pieces together after getting them home, Dad sequestered them in a spare bedroom where we had all the other Christmas gifts. Sarah was under strict orders to leave the door shut and not go in – we told her Santa Claus would not come if she went into that room.

            Goober was okay with our request. I did not notice her being overly curious about the forbidden room nor did I catch her trying to sneak or peek in. But one morning before Christmas Dad went into the room to look for something. He had shut the door, and Sarah did not try to follow him in. But she did like being where Dad was when he was home, so she was nearby that morning. When Dad came out of the room, he opened the door, came out quickly, and shut the door behind him. Sarah was right there.

            “I saw chairs!” she exclaimed. “Chairs! I saw chairs!” Her face was lit up in wonder at the glimpse of child-sized chairs in the secret room. Goober did not connect the chairs with Santa Claus or presents. However, the glow on her face said she was convinced the chairs were hers.

Amanda 1992 

            On Christmas morning we put bows on the chairs as we set them up with the table in front of the tree where all the other presents were. We explained that the table set belonged to both Sarah and her three-week old baby sister. Goober's eyes were still glowing.

            Even though Amanda and Sarah's childhoods were different from the ones on Heinrich Road, the table has done duty for forts, puzzles, Barbie play, doll house holder, and the chairs have provided for stuffed animals, live cats, a boost to clothes in the closet or items on the kitchen counter, and even speakers.

            When the girls were grown and living in their own places, I worried how to equitably split the table and four chairs between them – Amanda, however, made the decision very easy, “They are Sarah's, Mom! They belong to Sarah.”

           Today in Chapel Hill, the table and chairs of the Christmas of 1986 are a staple in the childhoods of Goober's two young ones. Two weeks ago when I was visiting, there were light saber swords resting on the little table in between bouts between sister and brother, and at one point three-year-old Horatio picked a stuffed elephant up from one of the chairs, handed it to me and said, “You are the elephant! What is your super power?”

            While my brain searched for the appropriate super power for my toy elephant, I could hear echoes from years past, “I saw chairs!” Memories don't get any better than this!

359 20151225 I Saw Chairs!