He sat alone on the front porch as he had for so many years. It was the one place where troubles seemed to disappear for a while, and the quiet could be broken by children's laughter. The porch was where you and your bride made dreams come true, and tears sometimes fell when a dream was shattered. It was where you had that talk with your son and gave advice to all your children. The porch was hollowed ground, a kind of neutral place where what was spoken remained when you went inside.
The porch had a swing you made when your hands were young, and your back was strong. A labor of love for one of many anniversaries you shared with the love of your life. You remember the sound it made as you slowly rocked back and forth, watching both sunrises and sunsets, holding her hand softly in yours.
The porch welcomed family and friends for no reason, just a place with a welcome mat that read all are welcome here. A half-dozen rocking chairs painted white to match the swing, and a bench for kids to sit on when mom called a time-out. Even the pets liked the porch where they found a ray of sunlight to fall asleep with a torn-up tennis ball close by.
So many memories of that old porch keep his mind busy as he fights hard to remember all it meant to everyone, with kids avoiding three little steps and older folks taking one at a time. The porch had a corner where the Christmas tree stood, waiting to be taken inside, and a place for sleds and bicycles, ready for action. It was where a wooden table was filled with plates of freshly baked cookies and, depending on the season, pictures of iced tea and lemonade in the hot months, and cocoa and coffee when the north winds blew.
It was countless times listening to a ball game on the radio, sitting on the porch as holiday festivities inside were in full swing. It was a place where you could be alone with your thoughts, or times when you hoped the porch would withstand dozens of your people to celebrate a birthday, and not collapse. The porch wasn't just another place to sit; it was an extension of the home and, by far, the choice for many to have a swing, tell a story, or grab a few winks after Sunday dinner.
Now, as he nears the time when all those children are scattered around the globe, and busy schedules prevent frequent visits, he sits alone, wrapped in a blanket she made. He closes his eyes and slowly rocks himself to sleep to the squeaky sound of the swing he never got around to fixing.
The porch welcomed family and friends for no reason, just a place with a welcome mat that read all are welcome here. A half-dozen rocking chairs painted white to match the swing, and a bench for kids to sit on when mom called a time-out. Even the pets liked the porch where they found a ray of sunlight to fall asleep with a torn-up tennis ball close by.
So many memories of that old porch keep his mind busy as he fights hard to remember all it meant to everyone, with kids avoiding three little steps and older folks taking one at a time. The porch had a corner where the Christmas tree stood, waiting to be taken inside, and a place for sleds and bicycles, ready for action. It was where a wooden table was filled with plates of freshly baked cookies and, depending on the season, pictures of iced tea and lemonade in the hot months, and cocoa and coffee when the north winds blew.
It was countless times listening to a ball game on the radio, sitting on the porch as holiday festivities inside were in full swing. It was a place where you could be alone with your thoughts, or times when you hoped the porch would withstand dozens of your people to celebrate a birthday, and not collapse. The porch wasn't just another place to sit; it was an extension of the home and, by far, the choice for many to have a swing, tell a story, or grab a few winks after Sunday dinner.
Now, as he nears the time when all those children are scattered around the globe, and busy schedules prevent frequent visits, he sits alone, wrapped in a blanket she made. He closes his eyes and slowly rocks himself to sleep to the squeaky sound of the swing he never got around to fixing.
Mike 2026
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