Mr. Chairman

There was a scuffling at the back door.

"Hello?" I called from the dining room.

"Hi Dad."

It was Logan.

"Who's there with you?" I asked, as the scuffling continued.

"Nobody."

Hmm.

"Oh, okay.  Can you close the door?" I asked.

"No," came the reply.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because of the chair," he said.

What?  Chair?  That doesn't sound right.  I got up to investigate.

"I found a dirty old chair by the stop sign on the corner," he proudly announced.

There are so many things wrong with that sentence.  But sure enough, there it was - dirty, old and sitting on the landing blocking the back door.  And this was the first thing you thought to do when you found it?  One good shove and he would have had it all the way down the stairs and into the basement.

"Can you help me?" he asked.

Do what, dare I ask.

"I will help you get it back outside and you will put it back by the stop sign on the corner," I said.

"Okay," he said, brightly.

It was at this point that I noticed he had obviously been sitting in the chair.  Either that or he had been rolling around in the street because his clothes were covered in dirt.  Anything was possible at this point.  As he left on his quest I suddenly wondered what the neighbors and passersby must think as they witnessed my little five-year-old wandering up and down the sidewalks of our neighborhood happily pushing, or riding, a dead office chair.

I'm sure I'll find out.

- 21 August 2014