We have a magical glider rocker in our front room. Lower yourself into it, close your eyes and you are gone until dogs want their supper or the Fur Person has run out of food. It is a miracle. Of course, you can’t always sit in this chair. Very often is is occupied either by Jodie, Penny or the Fur Person, all snuggled up and smiling and you have to postpone your daily doze.
This chair is not always gliding. This is only its initial stage. The rest of the time it is stationary, but cosy, and welcoming.
Sales people in furniture departments know exactly what appeals to seniors and take them to the gliders directly and all they have to do is choose a colour.
When we were children, there were always rockers in the house and a couple on the front porch in summertime.
Children rarely used them because there always was a grandma or grandpa sitting there with their eyes closed.
We had a large rocker in our kitchen. It had very wide arms. Just the right size for my younger sister and me to sit on while my father taught us all kinds of songs he even remembered from the First World War.
We could sit there and sing until my mother announced it was bedtime.
We knew the words to Tipperary, Over There, How You Gonna Keep Them Down on the Farm after they’ve seen Paree, Goodbye Ma, Goodbye Pa and Pack up Your Troubles.
We had a wonderful repertoire and went through the list every night. There was also KKK Katy,
Down by the Old Mill Stream and Yes, We have no Bananas today.
As we grew older, my father continued his interest in songs and knew all the words to Second World War tunes.
Of course, by that time we were not sitting on the rocking chair arms, but off to work.
There was always a lot of singing in our house. We bought Decca records down in Kresge’s for 50 cents and a copy of the Hit Parade magazine for 10 cents and we were all set up to listen to Top 10 songs every Saturday night on the radio.
I remember when I first heard Frank Sinatra and all the young girls squealing.
It is very strange; I can still recall all the words to these old songs, but can’t remember where I put my glasses or the car keys I had in my hand a couple of minutes ago.
I am getting dumber every day and it is very frustrating.
However, I sometimes sit by myself in my glider, reliving my youth, those wonderful cheery times, singing all my father’s songs and remembering how my sister and I had our arms around his neck while each of us tried to sing the loudest and the best.
I still miss my father.