A Chair For My Mother is a story written by Vera B. Williams, inspired by a true event in her childhood. The story introduces us to a multi-generational household; pooling their change together to buy a new chair after a fire destroys most of their furniture and belongings. The story seems simple at first glance; but just underneath the surface, a much deeper story is revealed. This is not just a story about a mom waiting tables at a diner and saving up change in a change jar. It is a story of resilience, dedication, strength, compassion and love. And this is a story everyone of us can relate to in one way or another. Personally, the parallel between the story characters trying to rebuild their lives and my own family is uncanny.
As most of my friends know; I found myself back in my hometown of Belzoni, Mississippi, with 2 kids, 1 cat and 1 dog; and nothing else. In a last ditch effort to escape an abusive marriage, the kids and I threw our clothes in garbage bags and fled. I left behind a life that took me 20 plus years to build. I was homeless, jobless, carless and had no idea how I was going to get back on my feet. Just as in Williams’ story, friends and neighbors stepped in. We were offered a tiny 1-bedroom cottage in the alley to rent; and people donated dishes, furniture, and any household essentials we needed. My daughter got the bedroom, my son’s make-shift bedroom was once the back porch; and I slept on an abandoned love seat in a room that served as kitchen/dining room and living room. I could lie on the love seat, and my son could lie in his bed and we could stretch out our arms and give each other a high-five. That’s how small the cottage was! But it was a start; and that’s all we needed- a fresh start.
I worked 3 – 4 jobs at once – waiting tables at night and by day, working as a dialysis tech, receptionist and fitness instructor. My day would start around 4am and ended in complete exhaustion after I grabbed up the last tips at the restaurant. Every night, I would get home and count my tips. The tips paid for the school lunches; and admission to all the kids’ games. While my checks covered the utilities; I needed the tip money so my kids could maintain some resemblance of a normal life. They had already survived so much trauma; and I just wanted them to have the best time in their remaining years of childhood. And for the most part, they did!
In A Chair For My Mother, the chair serves as more than just a piece of furniture. The chair symbolizes comfort and peace; and a sense of accomplishment after working together. And, isn’t that all we all really want in life? While that may look a little different for each person, we all just want to find that moment of peace at the end of each day. When I was headed north on Highway 12 with garbage bags in the backseat, peace was all I wanted for my family. And even though we did not have alot of money, that little cottage in the alleyway saw lots of growth, lots of laughs and more love than imaginable.
Fun fact about the story behind the story, Vera B. Williams wrote A Chair For My Mother in memory of her own mother; who bought a new chair on an installment plan. Because her mother was still in nursing school, the family had to forgo other purchases to make sure they had enough money each month to pay for the new chair. In typical immature fashion, Vera yelled at her mom, “You shouldn’t have bought the chair if you couldn’t afford it!” For years, Williams lived with regret at lashing out at her mother who just wanted a chair to relax in.
I often reflect back on my decision to uproot my children from the only home and friends that had ever known and planting them down in the Mississippi Delta. While I do not regret my decision, it hasn’t been without much internal conflict. It’s been 11 years now, and the guilt I feel still haunts my dreams. As a matter of fact, that is my reasoning behind revisiting this story. I am proud of the new life my children and I built together in the alleyway. And I am proud to have been able to watch them both thrive in their new world of cotton fields and farmers. But I can’t help but wonder if I could have done things differently, cleaner and gentler.
In this story, the family pooled their sources together and were able to all find comfort at the end of the day in their new chair. Even though we left that abandoned love seat I slept on for years behind, I can still remember how well I slept on it after a long day of work and school just knowing that my children were at peace and safe, and within an arm’s length.
So what’s the moral of the story? I guess the answer varies according to whichever perspective from which you read it. If you read this story from the characters’ perspectives, the moral is that with community, hard work, and determination, you can overcome any hardship. If you are reading this story from the author’s perspective, the moral of the story is that it is never too late to mature and empathize and offer your hardworking mama an apology. In the end, it doesn’t really matter how you read the story; because we all (the author, the characters and the reader) are just trying our best out here and want a little peace at the end of the day… whether it be in a new chair or an abandoned love seat in the middle of the kitchen in a tiny cottage in the alleyway.
Lessons Learned From The Rainbow 