The Great Green Chair

By Shirley Crow Stephens

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    In a very special place, near the tall brown clock with its moon-shaped face, stands a great green chair. And it’s mine, all mine, except when Father is there. You see we share.

    With a blanket thrown over the top, the great green chair becomes a cave and I am an explorer brave. Or it becomes a tent in the African jungles where I’ve been sent to capture the lion in his lair—home base is always the great green chair, except when Father is there.

    When I have a cold or sickness lays me low, the great green chair is the place I go. I snuggle up against its huge sheltering wings, and wait for Mother to bring me things like chicken soup or soda pop. She serves me, you know where, in the great green chair! Even if Father is there.

    The great green chair is big and tall, and when I’m curled up on it you can hardly see me at all. It’s a very good place to read a book or if you can’t read, it’s a good place to look.

    I look at pictures of Indians and pretend that I am one of them. The big fat arm of the great green chair becomes an Indian pony that takes me anywhere. Except, of course, when Father is there, and then we share.

    The great green chair is the best place to be if I’m tired or just watching TV. In fact, it’s the best place in all of the house to sit as quiet as a mouse. Or I can be as noisy as a seal in a cool, green pool. On the great green chair there aren’t any rules. But when Father is there, we share.

    Sometimes Father and I sit together, side by side. He tells me a story or reads me a book. Always he says how fine I look on the great green chair.

    I like to share when Father is there.

    Illustrated by Dick Brown