by
Michael Gordon
I’d always wanted to live in San Francisco ever since I visited the City in 1957 on my first weekend pass as a seventeen-year-old soldier stationed at Fort Ord near Monterey. But it wasn’t until 1968 that I found myself living in the Cow Hollow District, a terrific neighborhood with lots going on.
On most Saturdays I would head up to Polk Street for coffee and my usual bear claw. The walk would take me past a small furniture store with several pieces of furniture set out on the sidewalk on weekends. It was the solid oak rocking chair that caught my interest. This was the third weekend that it had been on display. I liked it, but it was the last thing that I needed in my cramped apartment. For the last two Saturdays, I had sat in it for just a few moments while sipping my coffee. It felt good. Marvin, the chubby bald owner of the store always smiled at me, “So buy it already.”
“So how come you haven’t sold it already.” We had had this conversation before.
“Only a very special person would buy this beautiful hand-crafted solid oak rocker. Someone like you.”
“Marvin, here’s ten dollars. Hold it for me until I’m in my eighties. And then I will be ready for it.”
“Very funny. Now you listen to me. Someday you will have a beautiful baby to rock and you will look back and wish that you had bought this one-of-a kind rocker. And years later your beautiful child will have beautiful babies and you will rock them in this chair too. Trust me. This rocking chair was destined to be yours. I know what I am talking about. And if I’m wrong, when you see me in heaven I’ll give you your money back. Okay?”
I thought about what Marvin had said. There was something about the way he said it that kept rolling around in my head. He didn’t need to sell me the chair; business was pretty good at his small store. What if he was right and somehow that rocker was meant for me? Nonsense. I was in my twenties. Planning for babies was the last thing on my mind. Having enough beer to last the weekend was my priority.
I was in my dentist’s office for a routine visit and was thumbing through his ancient magazines. Hard to believe that some of his Time magazines went back years. I picked up a current copy of Parents Magazine and read a story about a family living in rural North Dakota who was homeschooling their kids, and one of the photos quickly caught my eye. The granddad was sitting in a rocking chair that was made from part of an old oak tree that had been blown over the previous winter. There were two babies, twin girls, sitting on his lap, both with happy toothless grins. Hard to explain, but I thought that I heard Marvin whispering: “Mike, for the last time, take my good advice and buy the damn rocker. That photo is you someday. I’m not kidding anymore.”
On my way home that afternoon I stopped at my local newspaper and magazine store to pick up a copy of that Parents Magazine. Also, for serious reading, I bought a copy of Playboy and the annual Swimsuit Edition of Sports Illustrated. Alex, the storeowner, said to me: “Mike that’s quite a combination of reading. I suppose you’ll hide the Parents Magazine under your mattress.”
“Very funny, Alex.”
The next morning I headed straight for Marvin’s store. I had already decided where I could place the chair in my apartment. As I neared the store I knew something was different. A red “Sold” tag was tied to one of the rocker’s arms. It was fluttering in the morning’s light breeze. I was shocked that someone would dare to buy my rocking chair. I mean, Marvin had said fate deemed that it was to be mine. Those were his very words.
“Marvin, I’ve been thinking about everything you’ve said about this rocker and I’m here to buy it, but it’s been sold. When did you sell it?”
“A long time ago,” he answered.
“Who bought it?”
“See for yourself. The name is on the back of the tag.”
I fumbled with the red tag and flipped it over. It had my name on it.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“Now you can rock in it and drink beer until you have a kid.” He laughed.
For the next seventeen years, I schlepped that oak rocking chair with me wherever I lived all over the Bay Area. It wasn’t until October of 1985, when I finally had the joy of rocking a gorgeous seven and a half pound baby girl to sleep. Someday, when I see Marvin I will tell him all about it. As if he didn’t know.
On most Saturdays I would head up to Polk Street for coffee and my usual bear claw. The walk would take me past a small furniture store with several pieces of furniture set out on the sidewalk on weekends. It was the solid oak rocking chair that caught my interest. This was the third weekend that it had been on display. I liked it, but it was the last thing that I needed in my cramped apartment. For the last two Saturdays, I had sat in it for just a few moments while sipping my coffee. It felt good. Marvin, the chubby bald owner of the store always smiled at me, “So buy it already.”
“So how come you haven’t sold it already.” We had had this conversation before.
“Only a very special person would buy this beautiful hand-crafted solid oak rocker. Someone like you.”
“Marvin, here’s ten dollars. Hold it for me until I’m in my eighties. And then I will be ready for it.”
“Very funny. Now you listen to me. Someday you will have a beautiful baby to rock and you will look back and wish that you had bought this one-of-a kind rocker. And years later your beautiful child will have beautiful babies and you will rock them in this chair too. Trust me. This rocking chair was destined to be yours. I know what I am talking about. And if I’m wrong, when you see me in heaven I’ll give you your money back. Okay?”
I thought about what Marvin had said. There was something about the way he said it that kept rolling around in my head. He didn’t need to sell me the chair; business was pretty good at his small store. What if he was right and somehow that rocker was meant for me? Nonsense. I was in my twenties. Planning for babies was the last thing on my mind. Having enough beer to last the weekend was my priority.
I was in my dentist’s office for a routine visit and was thumbing through his ancient magazines. Hard to believe that some of his Time magazines went back years. I picked up a current copy of Parents Magazine and read a story about a family living in rural North Dakota who was homeschooling their kids, and one of the photos quickly caught my eye. The granddad was sitting in a rocking chair that was made from part of an old oak tree that had been blown over the previous winter. There were two babies, twin girls, sitting on his lap, both with happy toothless grins. Hard to explain, but I thought that I heard Marvin whispering: “Mike, for the last time, take my good advice and buy the damn rocker. That photo is you someday. I’m not kidding anymore.”
On my way home that afternoon I stopped at my local newspaper and magazine store to pick up a copy of that Parents Magazine. Also, for serious reading, I bought a copy of Playboy and the annual Swimsuit Edition of Sports Illustrated. Alex, the storeowner, said to me: “Mike that’s quite a combination of reading. I suppose you’ll hide the Parents Magazine under your mattress.”
“Very funny, Alex.”
The next morning I headed straight for Marvin’s store. I had already decided where I could place the chair in my apartment. As I neared the store I knew something was different. A red “Sold” tag was tied to one of the rocker’s arms. It was fluttering in the morning’s light breeze. I was shocked that someone would dare to buy my rocking chair. I mean, Marvin had said fate deemed that it was to be mine. Those were his very words.
“Marvin, I’ve been thinking about everything you’ve said about this rocker and I’m here to buy it, but it’s been sold. When did you sell it?”
“A long time ago,” he answered.
“Who bought it?”
“See for yourself. The name is on the back of the tag.”
I fumbled with the red tag and flipped it over. It had my name on it.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“Now you can rock in it and drink beer until you have a kid.” He laughed.
For the next seventeen years, I schlepped that oak rocking chair with me wherever I lived all over the Bay Area. It wasn’t until October of 1985, when I finally had the joy of rocking a gorgeous seven and a half pound baby girl to sleep. Someday, when I see Marvin I will tell him all about it. As if he didn’t know.
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