My Daddy's Chair

My Daddy's chair is made of black vinyl. It stands on four little peg-legs, and it has nailheads that make a pattern along the back and on the arms. Sometimes I run my fingers along them. I make them into roads, but the roads always stop before my finger gets anywhere. The chair-back has a greasy feel to it. I can use my fingernail and scrape little balls of black stuff off it. This is interesting, but a little gross. There's a torn place on the upholstery. My Mama turns the cushion upside-down to hide it, but when she's not around, sometimes I turn it the other way, and stick my finger in to feel the stuffing. It's kind of brown-colored, and it feels cottony.


 My Daddy's chair sits in the living room. It has a round black footstool that sits in front of it, and a table next to it with a lamp and a coaster for my Daddy's his beer. My Mama and Daddy keep their books on the table, but they're boring, grown-up books. I like my own books better.

 At night, when the curtains are drawn, my Daddy reads the newspaper. Sometimes he lets me sit on his lap, sometimes my sister gets to instead. When I'm not on his lap, I like to sit on the footstool, so I can be close to my Daddy.

 I like my Daddy. I always give him a hug and a kiss before he leaves work, and the time when he comes home again is the best part of the day. Sometimes when he's not around, I go into Mama and Daddy's bedroom. I lie on their bed and put my head on my Daddy's pillow, just so I can smell his smell. I look at his things: At his books, and his bottles of after-shave, and the little packets of antacid mints he keeps on his bedside table, but  I don't touch, because I know I'm not supposed to.

 In the early morning, I get Daddy's chair. I get up before everyone else, and I open the curtains to let in the daylight (if there is any daylight). I lie with my head on one hard, uncomfortable chair-arm, and my legs hanging over the other one. I read my books. The lamp makes a circle of golden light that holds me, and my book, and my Daddy's chair. The room is very, very quiet. I don't care how long it takes for the others to get up.

 Later on, Daddy gets a new chair. It's green and paddy, and soft, but it's not important like the old one. The old one goes in the den with the TV. At night my Daddy sits in there and watches the news and drinks beer. He doesn't let me sit on his lap any more, because he says I'm too big (this means fat). Instead, I sit on the sofa against the wall. I try to get the place by the lamp so I can read easily. Sometimes I get it. Sometimes I sit at the other end, with the afghan the cats poop on. Sometimes I have to sit in the middle, squashed in between my mother and my sisters. Wherever I sit, I read anyway. You can read while you watch TV, especially if it's a Brady Bunch rerun that you've already seen 400 times. Daddy gets mad, and says I'll ruin my eyes, but I've been wearing glasses since I was six. I don't see where I could ruin them much worse than they already are.