Before we ever bought our first piece of furniture, we were the proud owners of two couches, or sofas, if you prefer. Both played an important role in the life of my wife and me, as well as our children. That role was simply to provide a comfortable place to sit, or to even recline and take a nap. That’s it. Nothing more dramatic than that. One was brown, the other orange. This is their story.
The old brown sofa was uncomfortable as I sat, meeting my wife’s parents for the first time. It was the centerpiece of their living room. I didn’t think much about it at the time, as I sat stiffly on it. I had other things on my mind. I had dreaded this meeting, but there was no avoiding it. If I was to date the woman who later became my wife, then meeting the parents was going to be mandatory.
As I shifted nervously on the old brown couch, my future father-in-law sat in a straight-back chair across from me. That chair was not nearly as stiff as the conversation. He didn’t know much about me, but what he did know was not to his liking. He was right to have his suspicions and doubts. He was a good judge of character and this guy that wanted to date his daughter was lacking in many ways.
I squirmed on that old brown couch when he asked me if I knew what he was holding in his hand. I did not. It looked like a combination of a claw hammer and a pair of pliers. He seemed amused by my discomfort and informed me that it was a tool used to stretch barbed wire fencing. “Good to know,” I thought, as I shifted my position on that old brown couch, wishing I could sink further into it. I couldn’t. The old brown couch was not my friend. It was remaining loyal to the man who owned it.
I survived the evening. Things got better over time. This same man became a good friend, and great father-in law. (If you want to know more about him, check out https://lifeandmiles.com/lance-delano-johnson.) Fast forward to a few years later, and that old brown couch sat in my living room in the small house we rented in Russellville. Gifted to my new wife and me since we had no furniture and no money, it became a prized possession. It seemed more comfortable in its new home. It stayed with us for a while, withstanding the wear and tear of at least our first child. It welcomed me home after a day at the office. It was now a part of my family. I would say we had a lot of good years with that couch, but I’m not sure that I remember how long it even stayed with us. Here’s why.
The old brown couch eventually gave way to the new orange couch. Well, it was new to us, but it was actually an old orange couch. It was given to us by friends who believed it was a better option than the old brown couch. And I suppose it was. I don’t recall the final disposition of the old brown couch. We may have given it away, or we may have hauled it away to its final resting place in a nearby landfill. But, considering the frugality of the original owner, my father-in-law, there’s a good chance that it was simply stored somewhere to be used again somewhere down the line. Oddly enough, we didn’t feel much of a sense of loyalty to the old brown couch, despite its faithful service.
We liked our old orange couch. It did tend to brighten the room. We liked it so much that when we moved to Florence, the old orange couch moved with us. It had to. It was all we had, and we were glad to have it. We appreciated its support and loyalty.
It served us well for a while. We have pictures of our friends and kids sitting on it. I’m sure they jumped on it. But at some point, it started to become pretty threadbare. But never fear. It was not done. My wife covered it with a nice orange throw cover. Nothing fancy, buy it matched the old orange couch and life went on.
But even that new throw cover could not save the old orange couch. And one day, we decided that the old orange couch had to go. It gave way to a new and more stylish plaid couch that we bought on credit at the furniture store. Out with the old and in with the new. The new couch had more color. More patterns. More cushioning. It was a welcome replacement for the old orange couch. We were tired of it, even though it never tired of us.
So, we sent out word that we would give the old orange couch to the first person who wanted to add it to their household. Someone did. I think it was for their cousin, or some relative. Not our relative, but the friend’s relative. I’m pretty sure I even delivered it to this stranger’s house. I don’t remember if I said goodbye to that old orange couch. Probably not. More than likely, I slid it off the back of my truck, helped carry it into a strange new living room, and drove away. I’m fairly certain that’s how it played out.
Back at home, we loved our pretty new couch. Back then, anything new was exciting. We still had no money, but we had good credit. That will, unfortunately, let you buy anything. I digress. The new couch came with a matching love seat and a chair. Wow! We had really moved up in the world. Our new furniture became friends with our older rocking chair and life went on. After a while, we never even thought about the old orange couch.
Until one day I did. And I decided that the old orange couch was an important part of our story. It’s strange how the things that seem insignificant today were certainly significant in their day. That old orange couch was significant because it gave us a place to sit. Otherwise, we’d have been on the floor. But the same could be said for the new couch, it’s matching love seat and chair. Or at least I guess that’s true.
They say you never forget your first kiss. I can’t comment on that. I will say that couches have come and gone, and most of them have been forgotten. But I haven’t forgotten our first couch. It had been loved and embraced by others before it was ours. But while we had it, it was extremely loyal and served us well. So, dear Old Orange Couch, while I didn’t say when you were around, I’ll say it now. You were a part of our family, and you’re now a part of our history.
And, wherever you are, thank you for the years of comfort and support. We didn’t always treat you well. We probably let our kids jump on you and abuse you. We let a lot of crumbs fall through your cushions. I’m sure we spilled things on you. But we vacuumed you occasionally and cleaned out under your cushions. I hope you enjoyed your new family and that you finished your life well. And I hope that your final departure was not too difficult. I have a feeling that you were eventually delivered to the place where most old furniture goes. Whatever your demise, I hope you at least had some good company. And I hope you remember us as fondly as we remember you.
Let’s talk again soon!