You've read stories about how a homeowner comes into their home and finds it trashed. They've been robbed or vandalized.
Besides the feeling of having your
personal live violated, I can imagine being really angry - but oddly enough (as
I watch a true-crime story on television) I envision a feeling of loss.
Now, how would a home invader know
that the coffee table in my home is one of great sentimental value to me? Is it
worth a lot of money? No. Is it pretty or handsome looking? No. But it is a
solid piece of furniture that might even be older than me - if you can believe
it.
My father made it during a
night-school class when my parents were married. He doesn't remember what year,
but I can't remember any other coffee table in my childhood home. So the coffee
table was with me before "the divorce."
The coffee table then moved from
one place to another (there were several) before settling down again - after
getting re-married.
During that time I glitter-glued
on it, punched holes in it (making stars on a paper - not realizing punching
holes in the paper ALSO punched holes in the table), spilled liquid on it,
dropped food all over it. This was all before it moved cross-country with me.
In that new home it didn't live as
prominently as it had before, but have no fear, it went to college with me and
became good friends with my friends. We proceeded to spill liquid on it, drop
food on it, play quarters on it, and maybe even studied a little on it.
After college, my coffee table and
I moved around a bit before settling down again. Many nights of cards were
played at it with drinks that left rings which disappeared by the morning. It
was magic.
Another move and it became the
table that the baby pulled himself up on, cruised around, gnawed on, ate
at and colored on.
The baby grew up and had friends
come over. Pizza was eaten on it, sodas spilled, game controllers dropped on it
- and it still looked newish. Bits of glitter from 50 years ago still embedded
in the varnish and of course the star holes pounded into it around that time
still remain. It has never required a coaster for drinks because it just
absorbs the ring and it's never been damaged by heat (like a hot pizza box left
on it too long). I think it's still magic.
The boy has staked a claim on the
coffee table for when he moves out. While a couple years ago I would have held
on to it, now I think I can let him take it. It's pretty much indestructible,
and The Boy also has grown up with this beloved piece of furniture. He has his
own ties and memories.
This ridiculous table has been
through the before and after in my life. It's a piece of my childhood before it
got blown out and seen me through adulthood. It's still standing and so am I.
ps - both with a little glitter
embedded in the varnish and maybe a couple star holes left to remind me to
always look up
