The Big Comfy Chair

By definition, the chair, for many centuries and indeed for thousands of years, was an article of state and dignity rather than an article of ordinary use. For me, it was something to slump in.
And slump in I did. You know the chair I’m talking about. The one every kid wants to flop in and never leave because he knows if he does then he’s lost the prospect of owning the chair. Why is it kids think it’s their chair anyway? Children have to be told to brush their teeth but they know all about squatters’ rights?
Think back when you were a kid. Were there certain time restrictions placed on ownership of the chair or had it been understood when and how long you could leave your chair and still make claim to the chair?
Up and down, it was still your chair. Run to the kitchen for a drink of milk; still your chair. Taking phone calls was more of a risk. You risked losing the chair based on the length of the phone call. Wrong number, still your chair. Bathroom breaks you usually "hosied" the chair. Is that even a word? Bathroom breaks were fifty, fifty. Again, the time restrictions took hold. If you had the chair the previous night, you may not have been eligible for the chair the following night. If you argued over the chair with your siblings, then no one got the chair.
Sometimes, you had to share the chair. This was fun when you were 5 and weighed a mere 30 pounds and there was plenty of wiggle room. The older you got, the smaller the chair appeared. You might have less room than your sibling or vice versa. This would lead to the proclamation of the civil war chair. Moms were always good at negotiating the civil war chair. Snack foods usually made a nice diversion until of course the food was all eaten then it was back to the civil war chair. "Get out of my chair." "That’s my chair". "But you left." "So what. I was here first." And the all too familiar, "I don’t see your name on it". "Did you pay for the chair?" Once this phrase was uttered, mom stepped in to announce she indeed paid for the chair in a tone of voice that could by it’s own accord remove anyone from said chair in an instant. This was her boiling point voice and unless you wanted to spend the rest of the day in your room, you would concede the chair.
Spending time in your room or as they refer to it today as a "time out" wasn’t all that bad a punishment. It was dependent on the variables attached to it. It was merely optics. I could never figure this one out completely. An opportunity to spend time with oneself to reflect on what one had done to deserve time alone was more of the luxury you were seeking rather than the punishment you received. I had 10 brothers and sisters. Chances were I wasn’t entering into solitary confinement though. The luxury wore off of course especially when we were all punished at once. Then we’re back to the all too familiar, "get out of my bed." " I was here first" "But it’s my bed." ‘I don’t see your name on it." Oh, to be an only child!