His chair

     The chair at the head of the table sits empty now. It seems so odd not to see him sitting there parting words of wisdom to generations of listeners. He was a wise man, a simple man who loved his family, his church and his country in that order. Sunday dinner was mandatory unless you were in intensive care and if you happened to be running late you got the glare that stuck with you for a solid week. Normally he sat quietly enjoying his meal listening to others talk about their lives and when he disagreed with something said he would set his fork down, cross his arms across his chest and wait for silence before commenting on whatever it was. I think most at the table shook heads in agreement if only to keep the peace and the food warm. There were many late nite conversations at that family table sometimes it was just one of us and dad asking for his advice on any and every topic that seemed at that moment a world crisis. He would always make it better somehow with a soft voice and a gentle touch with his weathered but strong hand. There were a few times at that table that weren't so nice when a car got wrecked or a bad grade in school happened more than once. Nothing was off limits with dad and he let us know that from a very early age. Now his chair collects dust in the ruts it made being slid in and out of that table. He may not be with us anymore but I still from time to time have a seat across from his chair and tell him about my day, my life, and I swear I see his arms folded across his chest just listening with great interest and a greater love.

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