His seat was always at the head of the table, he said he could look at everyone from there so that he could be in on many conversations at the same time. As a young boy, I remember the little folks would have their own small table a few feet away from the grown-ups, just out of earshot to know what was being said. I was always amazed at how smart he was, and I enjoyed listening to his stories of days past and the people in it, like Grandma, who passed away a while ago. If we were lucky, he would call all the children into the living room, where before a glowing fire, we'd sit on the floor around him and listen to stories we never wanted to end. Decades have passed, and now I sit at the head of that table, looking at everyone so I can hear their conversations at the same time. I look over to the small table where children sit happily in their own wonderful world, waiting patiently for me to tell them a story. What would life be without a head of the table, a storyteller, and someone with enough love to fill your heart forever?
MO
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