“My friends would come over and we’d usually fight over who could sit in the rocking chair, and ultimately I would usually win because it was my rocking chair.”
Wendy grew up in the small town of Culverton in southern Nevada.
I grew up in the poorer section of town with my parents and four siblings in a two bedroom, one bathroom house. We had a huge garden, so we always had fresh vegetables and fruits.
Because of these circumstances, and Wendy’s position as the last born of five children, nearly everything she had was a hand-me-down. This made Christmas in 1985 very special.
I was four years old. I remember waking up on Christmas Eve in the middle of the night and going to get a drink of water, and seeing a light on in the living room and stopping and asking what my parents were doing. My mom looked at me and said,
‘We’re putting together a puzzle.’ And the next morning I still remember waking up and seeing the puzzle.
The puzzle was not of the ordinary variety. It is on display here.
What I received for Christmas was a five piece wooden rocking chair that fits together as a puzzle. My mom made it at a church activity.
Wendy cherished the chair growing up, in large part because it was one of few objects that belonged specifically to her.
Getting anything new was very rare. This rocking chair was probably one of the first brand new objects I had ever had. I used it probably until I was eight or nine, until I could not fit into it any more. And even then, I would sit sideways so I could still fit in my rocking chair, because it was mine and it had never been anyone else’s. All of my other toys had gone through my three sisters, and some of them even my brother.
Having something of her own was more than a matter of possession. For Wendy, it signaled that her parents were thinking specifically of her.
Receiving that from my parents meant a lot to me – knowing that they cared enough. My mom made one rocking chair, and it was for me. She made it specifically for me. And knowing that, it was special.
The Rocking chair has since turned into a hand-me-down itself. But this one, rather than being a product of economic circumstance, is a symbol and embodiment of the generational continuity of familial love.
It has gone through many of my nieces and nephews, and my cousins. I’ll be able to pass it on to my child, and then on, through the generation