If It Could Talk The Stories It Would Tell

The old metal rocker was hidden in the back corner of the antique market together with a collection of salvaged wood and metal chairs. It caught my husband’s attention, and he called me over. Immediately, we knew it would have a place in our home.

As I pushed the cart carrying the old metal rocker towards the exit doors of the antique market, the owner said, “I’ve got one of those on my front porch. I use it all the time.” I smiled. He continued, “if it could talk…” I looked at him and, without hesitation, said, “the stories it would tell.”

Memory lane

The antique market is the largest I’ve ever seen, consisting of aisles and aisles of antiques and other merchandise. You’ll find vintage anything, new doodads, and everything in between. It’s a bit overwhelming for the non-shopper. However, there is no doubt that some artifact will grab your attention, and your thoughts will take a stroll down memory lane.

The old metal rocker is old and worn, weathered and rusted. It has watched the decades roll by and seen countless people stop and sit for a while. I wonder when and where the rocker first made its debut and who the lucky owners were. I am sure it must have landed in a prominent place in their home.

Rockers seem to be a thing of years gone by, back when folks made time to visit, back when storytelling preserved the past and conversations took precedence over anything else because anything else could wait. I miss the pre-digital age when time passed more slowly and sitting down for a visit took priority.

Countless stories

As we found the perfect spot at our home for the old rocker, I wondered about the many who had sat and the countless stories told.

I thought about…

The newlyweds who dreamt of their future, full of hope and idealism

The close friends who talked so fast and laughed so much those walking by couldn’t help but glance their way

The quiet one who pondered and contemplated the grander things of life

The grieving soul who sought comfort from an old friend

The family members who shared sweet memories and reminisced about the way it was

The lonely one who cried out wondering if anyone could hear

The wisdom imparted from one generation to the next

The sound of children who giggled and squirmed, and drank lemonade on a hot summer day

Sacred space

I thought of the old metal rocker and the stories it had heard. I thought about the sacred space it offered for weary and content souls alike. For decades, the old metal rocker made space for sharing stories. And now, the old metal rocker resides at our home, doing the same, making space for sharing stories.

I’m glad the old metal rocker can’t tell its stories.

Sacred moments are meant to stay sacred.