Remembering my own 'rock star': my rocking chair

While listening to an oldies radio station the other day I heard the classic country song, “Rockin’ Years.” It brought on an onslaught of memories. The memories were not of rocking and dancing to music. My rocking memories were of when our babies were small and our living room rocking chair that I rocked miles in was the star of my memories.

My “rock star” had a place of honor in our living room for many years—and it certainly did its job. It was bought when our number one daughter was born, and this Fourth of July she will be 60 years old. She wasn’t much of a sleeper, but a few rocks in that chair and she would sail to dreamland. The rocker was her sailboat. Colic paid her a nightly visit so until around midnight each night she and I would be using that rocker overtime! We’d rock, I’d pat her on the back and she would cry. I’d rock some more, pat some more, and she and I both would cry. Finally, her pain would ease, and she would give in to the rhythm of our friendly, dependable rocker. I’d hum a hymn or lullaby as we rocked until I could tell that restful sleep had come. That was the beginning of my rocking years.