The Chair

[Independence Day Supplemental]

The night of July 3rd, my wife Jennifer and I were driving along Main Street in our hometown of Centerville. In the middle of our conversation, Jennifer stops for a moment and then says “There’s a chair.” I didn’t understand what she meant so I asked for clarification. She responded by saying that a lone chair had been set out next to the street—a chair that was roped off and that had a small American flag next to it. We both smiled in a sad sort of way as we realized that some resident of Centerville must have put it there—a resident who wanted to honor the regular Independence Day parade that is ALWAYS an integral part of the city’s patriotic celebration. A parade that usually causes hundreds of people, the night of the third, to line two miles of Main Street with chairs of all shapes and sizes. 

But not this year. 

In the hours after seeing the chair, I began to hear things it was trying to say—not so much in words, really, but in symbolism and emotions. 

The chair being roped off on all sides represents the isolation each of us feels right now. COVID-19 has broken human connection; politics continues to deeply divide; racial injustice devalues and separates; and loneliness is the second pandemic suffocating and enveloping so many. 

The size of the American Flag next to the chair represents how little of patriotism so many of us feel. This great nation that so many men and women died for doesn’t quite seem to honor their sacrifice anymore. Intolerance, disrespect, and pride have replaced love, warmth, and unity that used to prevail. Freedoms continue to be curtailed and liberties stomped upon. 

The blanket at the base of the chair represents comfort, familiarity, and even protection. But this particular blanket’s size speaks to how much such representations are being felt by Americans these days. Very little. In fact, one only needs look at the buzz phrase of the day—“uncertain times”—to know just how little. We long for a sense of normalcy. We are tired of being afraid and confused. And while the term “new normal” has become familiar to us, the meaning of that term is anything but familiar. We have no idea what normal will be, or when it will be, and it’s killing us. 

Is there no hope then that things will be better? What does our chair say? 

If you look closely enough, there’s a sign on the chair with words written in black marker and infused with hope:  “Reserved for 2021.”  

Now some may call that optimistic. After all, we’re talking about some pretty big things that won’t likely work themselves out in just a year’s time. But perhaps the words on that sign are an invitation for each of us to look deeply inside ourselves and to figure out what needs changing. For certainly we can do better. We can be better. Then maybe, just maybe, if we all pledge to do our part and become a better version of ourselves—a version that would do our country proud—our sad smile upon first seeing the chair will change into a confident happy one. Why? 

Because the chair’s ropes of isolation will fall. 

Other chairs will appear as far as the eye can see. 

The flag will grow into a size of respectful grandeur. 

The blanket will fill the entire lawn. 

And the sign will then read “2021: true progress made!”