It was sometime in the early days of the 1950s, an older gentleman named Clyde was busy working with his tools.  What was he working on?  Why, me of course.  You see, Clyde liked to work with wood.  He measured, he cut and he planed every single part of me.  I was a special project that he was working on.  I was to become a chair for his nephew.

The nephew, Earl, put me to good use right away.  I became his office chair at home.  On occasion, Earl would use me at the dining room table.  I don’t remember who, but someone made some nice cushions for me, and not just a seat cushion.  I had one for the back, and one for each arm rest.  I was looking good and feeling great!  He was a great owner.  He took really good care of me, for over 20 years.

I can still recall when his family would get together for the holidays.  One of the grandkids liked to play near me.  Sometimes, the little squirt would untie my cushions.  He would rotate the stiles on my back too.  He wasn’t being rough or mean about it.  I think he just like to figure out how I was put together.  I had a feeling that he would become a future woodworker.

During the latter part of 1980, I lost my dear friend.  His wife kept me around and kept me busy.  She took care of me for a few years.  One of the boys acquired me after that.  My days of being cared for and respected came to an abrupt halt.

For about the next ten years, I was knocked around, stepped on, mishandled and had paint dripped all over me.  The upper part of one of my back legs was split badly and was held together with black tape.  I no longer had a shine and felt completely disheveled.  Then one day, I overheard my owner telling a younger man that he was just going to throw me on the burn pile.  I’m not sure what a burn pile is, but the younger man seemed to be rather upset.  He told my owner that he would take me.  So, here I was, being given away to some stranger…or so I thought.

I arrived at my new home and he proceeded to take off the black tape.  Next, he looked me over for other cracks and damage.  He put his hand on me and said, “Don’t worry.  I will fix you up.”  There was something about his eyes and smile that seemed familiar.  Finally, I realized that this young man was the same little boy who used to untie my cushions.  Over time, my young friend cleaned me up.  He scraped of the paint drippings.  He sanded me down and glued my leg.  Every little nick, scratch and dent got repaired.  He gave me a new color (I think he called it a stain).  It smelled like a stain, but I was looking pretty dapper.  He then covered me with a shiny coating.  I went from dapper to slick.  My young friend even made me some new cushions.  I felt complete again, just like those many years ago.

My owner put me to very good use.  He took very good care of me, for a while.  I haven’t seen my friend in a few years.  I hope he comes to get me sometime soon.  I could use him and I’m sure he could use me.