The other night my niece asked my brother about a stool that had been in our family for many years...
Were you excited little stool the day the man and woman brought you to your new home? You had recently been discarded, unwanted, no longer useful; put out at a curbside yet someone saw in you what you could become.
The man and the woman brought you into their home and into their kitchen, a place with wonderful sights and aromas. It was always warm and cozy in that room, and it was there you would find your permanent place under the table.
They painted you white, a color that befitted your position. You wouldn't be like any other seating; you would always shine.
The man and woman spent many hours in this room, your room, and they talked and laughed and made plans and listened and loved. The woman cooked and sang. Music was everywhere in those days and it was happy, always happy.
When others would come to visit, you felt useful because your family, as you would come to think of them, never had enough seats and some truly lucky person would choose you and sit at that wonderful table, the place where talk and happiness lived.
Sometimes, they put books and papers onto you, little stool, important things that needed to be gone through and you felt useful and oh so happy.
You listened to stories, oh so many tales of times past and sweet hope for the future. You saw two children grow up and then become replaced by two little girls who would fight for who might sit upon you. And you felt proud--proud to be chosen and adored.\
You watched little craft projects, paints, dollhouse furniture, and pumpkins to be decorated. You proudly held a warm body when that huge meal came once a year, the thankful holiday. You saw twinkly lights being untangled and listened to cheerful music at the colder time of the year; the time with the presents and love all around.
After a while, your man and woman began to age. They still sat near you, still talked, but it was different somehow. Maybe even a little sad. Sometimes there wasn't anyone to sit on you, to know how much you wanted to be useful. And time passed.
One day the man didn't return and a short time later the woman didn't either. That was the loneliest time for you, the waiting, waiting, hoping, watching. What would happen to you, little stool?
Then the boy, now grown came with a family of his own. There was life again and you were put back to work, the bonus seat for new meals, new conversations, new music, new stories.
One day, the little girl, slowly becoming a young lady, asked about you, little stool. She wondered where you came from and how long you had been with the family who'd loved you so much. The dad and his sister knew you had been around for a long, long time. They knew all you'd seen, all you'd done for their family. They appreciated you and they were happy for the day that the man and woman had chosen you. They knew you had heard much and seen much in your time with them. They loved you and they would always have you.
