Summary: Meet… my chair. It’s been a really good chair. I’ve had it for at least seven years. Maybe eight. It’s done its job like a good chair should and it has never complained, even when I wasn’t the best companion to it (such as yesterday when I had a particularly potent bean burrito for lunch). It hasn’t squeaked. It hasn’t wobbled. It has definitely served its purpose. And then, about two months ago, its upholstery just started flaking off as if it had contracted some strange flesh eating bacteria. A little at first, and then in big chunks. Within days the arms started flaking, the seat started flaking, the head rest started flaking. At first it didn’t bother me, but eventually there were gaping wounds all over the chair and black pieces of vinyl all over the floor. It was time to get a new one. Now, that desk you see in the photo above? That’s a big wrap-around workstation desk. It goes for another three feet or so to the right. When I ordered my new computer, I promised Noah he could have my old one. I think it’s important for young kids to learn computers, especially in this day and age. We talked for weeks before my computer got here about all the things he could do on it. We were going to put it in his bedroom on his own desk. The more we talked about it the more excited he got. Then, the big day came when my new computer arrived. Noah stood over my shoulder as I unpacked it and he waited with baited breath while I transferred all the data over. Eventually I was ready to swap them out, and I asked him if he was ready. “YES!” he screamed with so much enthusiasm, and then suddenly he went quiet. His face drooped ever so slightly as some new thought wiggled its way into his thinking. “What’s the matter?” I asked. He looked at my big, cluttered desk. “Dad, I was just thinking maybe we could put it out here and I could be with you.” Now I looked at my big, cluttered desk. There really wasn’t a good place to put his computer, but my kid thought it would be special to be right next to his old man instead of exiled into his bedroom any time he wanted to get on it. And that really meant something to me. So, I did some rearranging, and I unscrewed some shelves, and I moved things around, and we made space for Noah to have his computer right next to mine. When it was all done, and everything was plugged in, and the mouse and the keyboard were all hooked up, I told Noah to go grab the folding chair from his bedroom. He eagerly ran to grab it and moments later he came dragging it back into the room. Once again that same droop suddenly returned to his face. He looked at my chair and then to his folding chair. Back to my chair. Back to his folding chair. “Dad?” he said. “What is it bud?” He thought for a minute, then the smile returned to his face and he said, “never mind.” He unfolded his chair, and he plopped himself down in front of his new computer. A week or so later I asked him if he wanted to play LEGO Star Wars while I got some work done. He enthusiastically ran to our desk and he once again stopped before he sat down. This time his look of concern was much deeper as he looked at our chairs. “Dad?” he said. “Yeah?” He sheepishly looked at the floor as if the idea that was about to come out of his mouth was a really bad one. “I was just wondering if I could get a black chair with wheels, too, so that we’re both the same.” The way he said it was so dang cute, and again it meant the world to me that he wanted to be like his old man. And I told him no. CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE CONTINUED FROM PREVIOUS PAGE I gave him a handful of reasons why not, and he stopped pressing. Then a couple weeks later he asked again. And a couple weeks after that he asked again. I told him no every time. Eventually we ended up in Costco and we passed by an aisle, in the middle of which sat three leather office chairs, one tiny one, two large ones.
