According to my mother, this is the chair in which I rocked as a child. I have no memory of using it, just as I have no memory of any other aspect of that phase of my life. My mother kept the chair and no doubt cherished it. About ten years ago she gave it to me. The only place in our house that had space for it was the garage. There it hung, suspended from the high ceiling, covered with a plastic bag to keep dust off it.

I finally realized that although it had been a memento for my mother, it was of little meaning to me. When she died, there was no one left who had an attachment to the chair. That paved the way for my being able to part with it.

Neighbors who live across the street have a little girl. On my wife's urging, I gave the chair to them, which accomplished two things: it made them happy and earned me a Pack Rat Recovery Merit Badge.

The space it used to occupy in our garage is now vacant. If I do not have a pack rat relapse, that space will remain vacant for as long as my wife and I live in the house.