While we were growing up at 110 Flamingo Street, the furniture in our house had rules — rules we all had to follow.
I know that may not be normal — furniture having rules. But regular readers of this column would all agree: life on Flamingo Street was anything but normal. And for the seven magical years we spent growing up there, that’s what made it so much fun.
As we take a quick tour of our house, you may realize some of our furniture rules were your rules too.
Our formal dining room table was used only for special occasions like Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays, and wrapping presents. The strict rules about not using the table imported from China at any other time originated from a volcano. It was an experiment that went horribly wrong. Yes, I still feel bad about that huge burnt spot right in the center.
Even after refinishing, it was still there, and Mom had to use a fancy tablecloth for the next two years. Why just two years? The third year was when Big Brother James thought it was a good idea to use that fancy tablecloth as a parachute and jump off the back porch. It wasn’t. But this story isn’t about James’s broken leg and who actually gave him that good idea. (Not that I’m admitting to anything mind you. But I really thought it would work.) It’s about the rules of furniture.
Dad’s recliner had only one rule – no kids were allowed to sit in it. Unless, of course, he was already sleeping in it; then it was time to pile on. No rules were actually being broken. After all, we weren’t sitting in his recliner. We were sitting and lying on Dad.
Beds in our house also had rules. After Twin Brother Mark fell jumping back and forth between our twin beds in the dark, any jumping on beds, or between them, was strictly forbidden. I think the rule was more about the blood that didn’t come out of the carpet rather than the 12 stitches in Mark’s chin.
Eventually, all bedroom furniture had rules and Older Brother Richard was the reason. He shared a room with Big Brother James, and one night they decided to build forts.
Chairs, dressers, box springs and mattresses were all turned over and moved during the construction. They were finished around midnight, and that’s when the great pillow fight to the death started.
Ten minutes later, Dad stormed into the darkened room. Richard had taken light bulbs out of the lamps before starting his sneak attack.
Don’t think I ever heard as much colorful language come from Dad as I did that night. After first slamming into the dressers barefooted, then bouncing off bi-fold closet doors and toppling over the fort walls, he crashed to the floor.
That was the origin of the new rule about not moving furniture. The rule about not removing light bulbs from lamps came a week later, along with a trip to the hospital.
When you’re 7 years old, you’d do just about anything your big brother asks you to, whether it makes sense or not. At least that’s how I explained why, after James removed the light bulb, I stuck my finger into the light socket of a table lamp.
It doesn’t explain why he cut the lamp on; it just explains why my finger was in it when he did. The doctor at the hospital said my fingernail would grow back in about a month.
Finally, in our front room there was a white couch, matching loveseat and chair that we were never allowed to sit on, climb on, or hide behind. And Mom feared the destruction of the furniture by us kids so much she had it covered in thick plastic.
For seven years, the plastic covers stayed on, even when company came to visit. It’s been over 46 years since we moved away from Flamingo Street, but that plastic furniture, and all the other house rules, still has an impact on my life.
That plastic-covered furniture, and all the rules surrounding it, is the very reason why there’s only kid-friendly furniture in our front room today. Spill-resistant fabrics have made heavy plastic covers a thing of the past.
Rules about not moving furniture and fort building are why we rearrange chairs and build forts out of bedspreads whenever Little One and Sweet Caroline are over.
Our grandchildren are also welcome to sit in our recliners whether we’re sitting in them or not. The Wife and I even allow jumping up and down on beds. (The girls are still in cribs). And we don’t have rules about removing light bulbs from lamps. We just don’t have lamps in reach of little hands.
So, of all the house rules about furniture at 110 Flamingo Street, what is the only one still enforced at our house?
All volcanoes are to be built and erupted outside. After the incident last year, and what happened to our kitchen table, The Wife made this her number one furniture rule.
Yes, I still feel bad about what happened, but at least The Wife did get to go shopping and pick out a new table.
[Rick Ryckeley, who lives in Senoia, served as a firefighter for more than two decades and has been a weekly columnist since 2001. His email is storiesbyrick@gmail.com. His books are available at www.RickRyckeley.com.]
