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My grandfather used to sit in this chair and read the paper every morning. He used to sit in it and tell stories, too. I'll admit that his old tales of WW2 in the Pacific used to captivate me and gave my imagination all the fuel it would ever hope to get. When he passed away, there was some discussion over what do to with the chair. Being the opinionated and insistent little fart I was (am?), my insistence on leaving it in it's spot was eventually law. Years later when it was time to remove things from their place again, I requested, in a hopefully less belligerent tone, that I might have the chair. Considering my previous crusade, everyone seemed fine with it.
It now sits beside my bed as a place of comfort for me. It's where I tell my stories from. In that chair I discovered everything from Faust to An Unsocial Socialist, and it's a part of me and my own story.
Last edited by Willravel; 10-28-2007 at 04:10 PM..
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