When I was little my grandfather was one of my biggest heros. I wanted to be just like him. I'd sit in the basket of the hot air balloon and pretend to be a pilot or sit on the floor of my grandpa's workshop and play with scraps of wood and spare nails just like papa. Things that I only used at his house were assicioated with him. For example, salami was called papa's meat. I still call it that sometimes. Or papa's juice, which was some kind of orange flavored drink that my grandparents got from who knows where. But one of my favorite things I came to associate with my papa was his chair.
It was an old, ridiculously comfy recliner. The springs were broken in just right so that I could snuggle in it comfortably whenever my grandpa wasn't in it. I don't know if I can really describe the color... brown with just a hint of purple maybe, and it had little black dots forming some sort of pattern. It wasn't in the best place if you wanted to watch television, but you could still see the screen alright I guess. But it was still my favorite spot to sit. By the time they decided it was time to get a new chair, the thing had a faint smell of a mixture of sweat and propane. Not disgusting, but just enough to remind me that this was my papa's chair.
I just about cried when I found out they were getting rid of it. And they were just going to throw it away too! Grant it, it was probably time to get a new one, but they could have stored it in the basement or in my grandpa's den or something. My mom wouldn't even let take it over to our house. It was so devesting. That chair represented to much. Maybe it was the memories behind it; I don't know. But they did manage to replace it with a nice leather recliner that is slowly getting more comfortable as time goes on.
